


Games of Truth

by VS_Brewster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angry Sex, Casual Sex, Drug Use, F/M, HP: EWE, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Strip Games, Substance Abuse, Truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VS_Brewster/pseuds/VS_Brewster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The question she was asking was: do you really want to start this? All night they had been daring one another in their own way.  He dared her to smoke a cigarette, she dared him to roll a joint.  They dared each other to be honest."</p><p>A stoned Game of Truth shows that a know-it-all and a greasy git have more in common than they might have thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Games of Truth

**Author's Note:**

> All recognisable characters and places are property of JK Rowling and WB. No profit is made from this, only practice.

It was a clear and a cold night, around nine o clock. For a moment the flame from his lighter flared and Severus Snape could see nothing beyond the tips of his own fingers. Then the zippo snicked shut and he took a couple of quick puffs on the cigarette, blowing the smoke over the ramparts of the Astronomy Tower and watching it dissipate. In the distance there was a flash in the air. He frowned, his chest tight for a moment as he recalled the volley of hexes flung at Hogwarts' defences six years ago. Then, seconds later, he heard a sharp pop. There were more flashes. A smile tugged at his lips.

Remember, remember the fifth of November...

It was easy to forget in the middle of term, in a wizarding school. The Muggle world beyond was celebrating the burning of Guy Fawkes for treason against a corrupt government and monarchy. A dubious holiday at best. But he had always enjoyed the fireworks. As he watched, a second display further south started up, and then a third.

"Have I missed much?"

Severus closed his eyes and prayed for patience to a god he had never believed in. Why could he not have peace? He had been a bad man, true, but that was a very long time ago and even by his own exacting standards, Severus believed he had made some amends. 

But no. He could not be left alone to quietly live his life in his school, teaching imbeciles and researching, safely tucked away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world. The fates saw fit to deliver Hermione Granger to torment him. As though he had not been through enough.

She leaned her elbows against the rampart, face lit pink by the distant fireworks. She didn't even need to be there. Granger could work wherever she pleased, live wherever she pleased. She had money, an education and a spotless reputation. Yet of all the bright avenues open to her, she chose to return to Hogwarts to work on another bloody book. No one read the first one, he thought snidely. The Tales of Beedle the Bard would always be an oral tradition in the wizarding world. Everyone liked their Mum's version best. No one wanted the translation of an upstart Muggleborn.

"Something more academic this time," she had heard her breathe excitedly to Flitwick, like translating runes was tantamount to exploring the ancient tombs of the great pyramids. "Something I can really sink my teeth into."

Granger had been allowed the run of the school and it's library, and taught Advanced Runes classes on the side. He had seen blessedly little of her.

Severus took another drag on the cigarette. Glancing to his left, he suspected she was watching him but trying not to make it obvious. Gryffindors were always obvious.

"Can I bum a smoke?" She asked, in that flawless RP accent. Was there anything more incongruent than slang delivered by such a voice?

He turned his head to look at her. It struck him that twenty-four a little old to act out in an effort to look cool.

"No," he said bluntly. He would finish this one and go back to his dungeons and drink. If she was going to curtail the pleasures of one vice, he would simply enjoy another.

"Why not?" She said. She was probably aiming for adult reasonability but she sounded petulant.

This time he didn't even look at her. He appreciated the distant rockets instead, inhaling from his cigarette deeply and blowing out the smoke in one long breath. "Because it's November and I'm rationing my tobacco. I have December exams to get through. I'm not wasting my personal supply on someone who won't even inhale it." It was possibly the most he had said to her in one go since her return.

Granger took a step closer and he resisted the strong urge to flinch. Physical contact was still difficult. He wondered if she could feel the fizzle of his personal protection wards. Paranoid, the old man would have called it. But then Severus wasn't the one who had got blasted off this tower. Perhaps paranoia was suitable in certain situations; for certain people.

"You grow your own supply of tobacco?" There was mocking in her voice. That was new. When had she stopped being intimidated enough that she could mock him?

Severus took another drag. At least two good pulls left. Then he could stub it out and go back to his dungeon. "I don't like the chemicals they put in commercial tobacco. Pardon me if I like to know what I'm putting into my body." He flicked ash over the wall. A burst of magnesium fuelled light picked it out in the darkness as it fluttered down and down. Then the light dissipated and the ash vanished from sight.

"May I try?" He scowled at her as she reached a hand towards him, evidently about to take his rollie whether he said she could or not. For the sake of shutting her up he handed her the cigarette, though he resented the loss of one drag. The summer had been wet and his supply was low. Give it six weeks and he would be burning with resentment that she had taken that breath of poison from him.

Granger looked strange with a cigarette but didn't hold it awkwardly. She lifted the filter to her lips and pulled, holding her breath as if to prove a point. Her eyebrows raised and, as the next flash of light went off, he could see her eyes were watering. She handed the stub back. "Not as smooth as I'm used to."

"That's agent free tobacco. You can thank me when you have marginally less rampant lung cancer."

She snorted. Severus took the cigarette from her fingers, careful not to actually touch her. He pulled on the cigarette one last time, then stubbed it out on the stone work and flicked the butt over the edge. Beside him Granger drew her wand and flicked it at the falling twist of paper and ash. It burst into a miniature green firework, serpents of light slithering into the dark and vanishing. "Pretty," Snape sneered, though he noted the girl was used to covering her tracks.

"Can we smoke in the dungeons?" She asked as he was about to turn away. 

His intention had been to leave without remark. Doubtless she wanted to enjoy the fireworks on her own, and god knows he had nothing else to say to her. "Are you asking if smoking is permitted in my dungeons, or if it can be achieved covertly without setting off any alarms?"

He was losing his touch. He should have pointed out that there was no 'we'. He could smoke in his dungeons - could do pretty well whatever he bloody pleased in his dungeons. She would be hexed on sight. That would have been the appropriate response. Mellowing with age. The thought horrified him.

"The latter. And could we raid the potion stores?"

Curiosity killed the cat, or so they said. The cat in question was almost certainly a Slytherin.

And so it came to pass that Hermione Granger was knelt next to his desk in the classroom in which he had once taught her potions, papers and tobacco and hash paste laid out before her. A paste because Severus had insisted on cutting the marijuana with valerian. He had no desire to spend his Saturday with an aching head and jangled nerves, thank you very much. In his personal opinion she was laying it on a bit heavy - and he had been raiding the potions store room for pot in the seventies when it was original rather than retro. But what did he know? He was only a bloody potions master. If Granger wanted to get baked he would simply sit back and take advantage. What else could she expect?

"Is there anything else I should know?" He asked, actively engaging her in conversation for possibly the first time since she had left his tuition. "Tattoos on buttocks, intriguing piercings. I should imagine you have to go a long way to rebel against being a saviour."

Granger actually rolled her eyes. It was on the tip of his tongue to take points. "No tattoos or piercings." She looked up at him through long eyelashes, her smile oddly alluring. "Sorry to disappoint." She flicked open his lighter and snicked the flame into life, eyes crossing as she focused on lighting the twisted roach of the joint. Her cheeks sucked in as she puffed to light it. Then she sucked long and held her breath, eyes closing as she released scented smoke and let the lighter go out. Severus sighed and conjured a blue flame between them. The flames consumed the smoke in an effort to keep their activities undetected and ensure his classroom didn't end up smelling like a Bob Dylan gig.

"Everything was horrible for years and I was just a kid. Are you really so surprised I found something to calm me down?"

Severus frowned. You're just a kid now, he wanted to say. Nothing had changed.

Except everything had changed for her. Sudden safety and relaxation after years of being tense. Yes, he knew how that felt. But his numbing agent of choice had always been fire whiskey. The weed would only end up making her more paranoid if she wasn't careful. Looking at her sat on the floor of his classroom, legs extended and back to the wall, there were things that had changed. She still acted like a know it all. But relaxed and, he assumed, unguarded she looked older than she should. He had no right to judge, but she was lined and her eyes were tired. Beautiful, in their way, but tired. 

Granger leaned over to pass him the joint and he met her in the middle to take it.

"I wish you'd stop looming over me."

"I am not sitting on the floor," he said with all the dignity he could muster as he pulled on the fag. The burn at the back of his throat was strong and he was desperate to cough, but there was no way he was losing face in front of Hermione Granger. He held it and rolled the taste of the hash around his mouth before blowing a long stream of smoke at the blue fire. 

While his attention was diverted he felt the chair shift beneath him, dropping and growing softer. He scowled at Granger from his newly transfigured bean bag. "It's like being in the Hufflepuff common room in the seventies," he grumbled, but did not to change the chair back. A bean bag was better than the floor. Surprisingly comfortable actually. He shifted back into it and extended his own legs, careful not to touch Hermione. He closed his eyes and took another slow puff, leaning his head back and enjoying the feel of melting into his seat.

"You've been in the Hufflepuff common room?"

"I managed to get into all the common rooms while I was a student. Hufflepuff is the only one I haven't returned to as a teacher."

He cracked one eye to see her looking mildly impressed. When she took the joint from his fingers he didn't shy away. "How did you manage that?" she asked.

Snape levelled a gaze at his former student that he hoped was superior. "With a companion."

"A different girl in every house." Hermione let out a wheezy, smoky chuckle. "Professor Snape, you are full of surprises."

Only two of his companions had been female, and Lily had been a friend rather than a 'girl'friend. Not that he was going to disclose that. Let the girl think what she wanted.

"There's a lot we don't know about each other."

Snape's eyes were closed but he rolled them anyway. "There's a reason for that: we don't like each other."

"And yet here we are." He wasn't going to grace that with an answer. He was only participating in this sham of a tete a tete in the hopes Granger would reveal something blackmail worthy. "Did you ever play veritriad at school?"

Snape opened one eye. His vision was a little blurry. Granger was grinning inanely. That would be the weed. He closed his eye again and pretended he hadn't heard.

"It's a game. You say three things, two of them are true and one you just wish was true. Whoever you're playing with has to guess and-"

"I'm aware of the gameplay. What's your point?"

She was silent for long enough that Snape assumed she had let the thought go. He heard her dragging on the joint. It must be nearly gone. Someone had clearly never taught Ms Granger to share. So much the better, if she was high as a kite and he still had his wits about him.

"I've had sex with a man," she said quietly. Snape's brows drew together. "I've had sex with a woman. And I've had sex with a teacher."

He rolled the statements around in his head. It was easy enough. The more interesting part was the statement she wanted, as opposed to the ones that had happened. 

"In my day the guesser was allowed a question about each statement, either before or after the answer was revealed."

He cracked his eyes and saw her shaking her head. "When we played you had one question before and one after the reveal."

"Which teacher are you claiming?"

"No way, I'm not answering that!"

He hissed air in between his teeth, allowing himself the indulgence of a smile. "You're wanting to forfeit so early in the game?"

She sighed. He heard paper crinkle. Snape looked up in time to see her rolling a cigarette between her fingertips, lifting it to her mouth and delicately trailing her tongue along the adhesive edge. His eyes narrowed. Of his own volition, his mind focused on her tongue, transposing the movement and attention to where it would be more appreciated. Adjusting himself, Snape blamed the hash. "Depends. What's my forfeit?"

"I'll think about it. The teacher is a lie."

She smiled and offered the joint to him to light. "Very good. How did you know?"

"I'd know if you'd fucked a colleague. And you certainly haven't been anywhere near me." She inclined her head, mutely accepting his deduction. He puffed on the joint. If anything, she had increased the volume of hash paste. Apparently she was taking his rationing of the tobacco very seriously. "Fucking hell, Granger," he wheezed. She giggled, the sound much dirtier than it had ever been when she was a teenager. He smiled despite himself. He liked her dirty laugh. "The woman. Anyone I know?"

She was still grinning when she leant in and put her lips to the joint while he still held it. Smile melting from his face, he let go of the rollie quickly and let her take it back to her spot against the wall. "I'll tell you who, but that's the end of your questions. No asking about the circumstances." She took another drag and when she answered her voice was hoarse. "Lavender Brown."

Snape didn't need to ask the circumstances. He could well imagine it. Weasley spending weeks, maybe months nagging for a threesome. And who would he want for such an altercation? An ex-girlfriend, already used to his ineptitudes, but of course. It was only surprising that Hermione had agreed to such an arrangement. That surely must have been the beginning of the end.

"Your turn," Hermione reminded him.

In fairness to her, Hermione hadn't held back - though he still wanted to find out which of the teachers she had wanted to fuck. It might take a few more puffs before she became that amenable. He would need to give something in return if he wanted that information. "Even at my advanced age, I have remarkable powers of recovery." He quirked an eyebrow so she would take his meaning -- he wasn't prepared to expand unless she was willing to burn a question to ask. "I can make a woman come without touching her." He smirked and leaned back on the bean bag, lifting his hands up to rest behind his head. "And I am incredibly well endowed."

That dirty laugh was really very sexy. When had the nerdish do-gooder become sexy? Shapeless black teaching robes did nothing for her, but that was true of absolutely everyone. For the first time, Severus found himself growing curious about the body beneath the swathes of black cotton. For a brief and hideous moment he imagined Brown and Weasley divesting her of those robes. That was the moment he knew he had smoked too much pot.

She was smiling, pink tongue tucked between her teeth as she looked at him with half lidded eyes. She flicked out her tongue and licked the filter before sucking on it. Whoever said carcinogens couldn't be sexy? "Define well endowed," she requested.

"By anyone's standard," he drawled, watching her, daring her to glance at his crotch and try to judge.

Brown eyes flicked down. His cock twitched in response. Being half hard wouldn't hurt the ruse. Little white teeth, not yet stained by nicotine, dug into her plump lower lip. "I don't think you can make a woman come without touching her."

"Then you have a lot to learn about sex with a Legilimens."

She was blushing. In many ways he supposed he should be surprised it had taken this long. "The recovery time. I should have known."

Snape shook his head again. "It always amazes me that women will just believe a man who says he has an enormous cock."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "It's easy to disprove, why lie?"

"Because that's the name of the game. And the probability of you never seeing my wedding tackle is a fairly safe bet."

She snorted. Less sexy. "Consider yourself fortunate. We used to play strip veritriad."

Snape spread his hands. "I'm two for two. Feel free to strip if you please, Ms Granger. I won't stop you."

She was weighing up whether it was worth agreeing to drop two items of clothing for the promise that he would do the same if she won a round. Which she wouldn't. And on the off chance that she did, no one layered like Severus Snape in winter. Granger heaved a sigh and started toeing off her shoes. "Paired clothing counts as one item," he said softly, staring up at the ceiling as though entirely above the whole debacle. 

When he looked back at her there were no shoes and her teaching robe had been removed. He smirked. This was going to be fun. Beneath she wore only a white shirt and brown pencil skirt. Ms Granger apparently did not feel the cold. The joys of being young and stationed near Gryffindor tower at the heart of the castle. Those relegated to the dungeons learned in first year to wrap up warm. The blouse was fitted and the skirt high waisted, accentuating an hour glass figure. She had been petite in her seventh year - he remembered a figure hugging set of dress robes worn to the leavers' ball which she was constantly pulling up because she didn't have the bust to pull it off. That, he mused, would no longer be an issue. Thank the house elves for three square meals a day. Though in truth, a reduction of stress was probably just as responsible. Nothing like relaxation to slow the metabolism. He regarded her legs - at the ankle, not the knee - and wondered whether those were tights or stockings.

"My turn. I've had sex in the dungeons. I can have multiple orgasms." She looked down at the floor for the first time. Snape frowned. "And I didn't lose my virginity to a Weasley."

"Do you play poker?" He asked immediately.

Hermione looked surprised. "Is that your pre-reveal question? It's not about any of my statements." He didn't answer but watched her reply carefully. "No I don't. I know how to play but I'm no good at it."

Snape was in something of a quandary. On the one hand, no student had fucked in his dungeon. For one thing it would be one hell of a danger fuck and he was confident that no student would deem it worth the effort. For another, a man's home was his castle, and Snape knew his dungeon, knew everything that happened there. She had not had sex in his dungeon. On the other hand, her body language was so bloody obvious about the multiple orgasms. Every woman could experience multiples, it was one of the joys of being female. If that was the lie - and she almost certainly believed it to be, unless she had suddenly become one hell of a manipulator - it confirmed everything he had ever believed about the Weasley twat.

"Your lie is about the orgasms. But you're wrong. You're inexperienced and you have apparently been unlucky in your partners. Biologically, women have the potential for multiple orgasms. I see no reason you should be an exception."

Snape watched her carefully as that sank in, focussing on her eyes. It was difficult to perform legilimency without a wand, without speaking the words. Only the clearest thoughts came through. Hermione's thoughts were clear as day: all women have the biology, but not all have the psychology. Stop pretending you know me, git.

Interesting.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I got away with having sex in the dungeons?" She asked.

He did want to know, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of admitting his curiosity. Better to let her think he already knew.

"I want to see what you're going to strip off next."

Hermione rolled her eyes and lifted the hem of her skirt to mid thigh. The sheer black led to a thick, full black stripe, pulled up to a suspender clip. "If those are stockings I'd rather they stay on a bit longer."

The words were out before he could stop them. Hermione was smirking at him. She was perfectly within her rights to ignore him. No game rules that he knew of said that the victor had any say in what clothing was to be removed -- or every girl that ever played would be knickerless within three rounds. Still Hermione left the stockings, but didn't pull her skirt down. He could still see that thick black stripe, and a scant triangle of pale flesh above. Instead she started unbuttoning her blouse. Snape's mouth went dry at the creamy young flesh revealed, inch by tantalising inch. She was being perfectly functional about it, but it was still a turn on. "Can that fire put out heat?" She asked. Of their own volition, his gaze dropped to her breasts. Sensible cotton bra, and there were the little peaks of her nipples pointing out towards him. He imagined sliding the white strap from her shoulder, leaning in and suckling on her nipple, teasing and licking it, biting and seeing if she liked it.

He flicked his wand and the flames turned a natural orange. They seemed to have finished smoking anyway.

"This is unfair. You're too good at this."

"Life isn't fair, Granger. That lesson should have been firmly ingrained by now." He ran his eyes over her body. Half hard had become fully hard and he was beginning to wonder how far Hermione would let him push this. It surely couldn't be much longer before she stormed back to her tower. "And besides, it was your idea. All of this was your idea."

Her arms were crossed over her stomach, pushing her breasts a little higher. She was still smiling, just faintly. But there was a shade of doubt in her eyes. Severus realised that he wasn't ready to let her back away just yet. 

"Do you find it easier guessing or lying?"

She made a face. "Lying, I suppose."

"Then go again."

"Ok," she said, drawing out the second syllable. "I once drank so much I threw up. My favourite place to be kissed is my neck. And I'm finding this incredibly arousing."

Snape snorted. Did this girl want to end up naked in his classroom? "Only the once?" He sneered.

"Surely once is all you'd need," she replied, smoothing her skirt demurely.

"You aren't turned on by this conversation. That's the lie."

"I want to choose which item of clothing you remove, please." She said calmly, though her eyes were dancing.

Little minx.

"Which was the lie?"

"Why would anyone drink until they were sick? It's always been beyond me!"

He suspected his mouth was hanging open, but he honestly couldn't help it.

"I think I'd like to see you remove your underpants, please. And then we'll call it a night."

"Who says I'm wearing any?" He growled. And was it just him, or did something flare in her eyes at that suggestion. "You owe me a forfeit from before. Prove it."

She laughed. "Prove what?"

"You know what. Prove that you're turned on."

Her smile was assessing, calculating. Distinctly Slytherin. "Pants off first. Then I'll prove it."

It would have been easy to conjur a pair of briefs from scratch. But for whatever reason, Severus Snape was feeling honourable. He swished and flicked his wands, muttering some choice words that were not all incantation. A warm tingle, a shifting and then an absence in his nether regions told him that his underwear had disappeared. Making them reappear in his open hand was easy. He offered the neatly folded undergarment to her. "Still warm," he sneered.

Hermione's gaze was fixed below his waistline. She had obviously been hoping he would remove them manually somehow, but had the good grace not to complain.

In a moment she was on her knees in front of him. His wand was already in-hand and out of reflex he pressed the tip to her throat. It was unwise to make sudden moves around a war veteran. She looked down at the tip, eyes crossing slightly as they did when she lit a cigarette. One hand lifted and she pushed his wand aside and pressed a little closer, insinuating herself between his knees. With the extra room, his cock had filled to it's full length, tucked awkwardly up against his hip, and there was no subtle way to adjust with her this close. Her eyes were red, bleary and unfocused as she stared him down. "Do you really want proof?"

That was a loaded question if ever he had been asked one. Of course he wanted proof. Of course he wanted to know that she was getting off on this as much as he was. Ninety per cent of sex happened between the ears, and it was always a joy and pleasure and relief to know that there was reciprocation.

This was not the question she was actually asking. The question she was asking was: do you really want to start this? All night they had been daring one another in their own way. He dared her to smoke a cigarette, she dared him to let her roll a joint. They dared each other to be honest. He dared her to bare herself to him, and now she dared him to ... What? Touch her? Fuck her? The awkward part was, he wouldn't know the precise nature of the dare unless he acquiesced. Then, of course, it would be too late.

"Yes," he ground out.

Warm little hands wrapped around his. She was guiding his hand, pressing it to her bare stomach. She encouraged him to slide downwards, but Snape found he didn't need the encouragement. Like riding a broom, the instinct didn't go away no matter how long it had been.

And how long had it been since a young thing in her mid twenties had offered Snape her body?

Best not to think about it.

She was scalding hot to the touch. Her skin seemed to have soaked up the heat from the flames, like a stone in the desert sun. She was soft, so soft. He ran his hand under the waistband of her skirt, fingertips brushing the elastic of underwear. The angle was awkward, so with his spare hand he pulled her closer, maneuvering her body between his legs. His cock seemed entirely focused on other ways he would like to maneuver her between his legs and strained against the fabric of his trousers towards her as though she had performed an 'Accio Erection' spell. 

At last he was within and felt the tickle of pubic hair. Down and down. The contours of her cunt lips, her labia. He risked a glance at her face. He had hoped she would close her eyes so he could watch her, but she was staring at him intently. Apparently they both liked to watch. "There," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear. He pressed his middle finger upwards. Molten heat and wet and softness. Swollen flesh and sticky juices. Oh yes, she was turned on alright. He pressed up higher, his fingertip sliding inside of her...

"Enough," she said sharply. Hermione wriggled away from him before he could stop her. She was already pulling on her blouse, fastening buttons. "It's late and I'm tired. Thank you for an interesting night, Professor."

Then she was gone, as though she had never been there. No, not quite. There were two cigarette butts where she had been sitting. And her juices were cooling on his fingers. He lifted them to his lips and tasted her. Tangy salt and honey sweet. He licked but didn't suck. He wanted to be able to smell her when he got back to his rooms and dealt with the uncomfortable problem in his trousers.

Snape drew his wand once more and pointed the tip at the butts on the floor. He thought of the serpent firework she had made of the fag he had dropped off the Astronomy Tower and smiled. Instead of Vanishing them, he summoned them and pocketed the evidence for later rumination. For there would be a lot of thought, many questions to consider, and planning to be hatched as to what would happen next.

But for the time being, Snape just wanted to go to his rooms and wank furiously imagining Hermione Granger doing the same.


	2. Terms and Conditions

It had proved to be a long and busy weekend. Visits from friends, research, a meeting with her publisher and tea with the Headmistress had meant that Hermione had very little time to spend brooding. Normally when she was confused about her feelings, she would spend time writing lists and creating mindmaps to work out how she felt; what should be her course of action. There had been no chance to do that. Luckily, she had also failed to cross paths with her former Potions professor, though he had frequently occupied her thoughts.

On leaving his classroom late Friday night, she had returned to her room and spent time thinking about him. Specifically, about the bulge in his trousers which he seemed to think was nothing special; about his ability to make women come using mind magic, without any physical contact; about the many revelations he had shared with her. Mostly, though, she thought about his hand sliding into her knickers, a slender finger probing her pussy, and his dark eyes watching her reaction intently. That, she reflected, had been the sexiest thing. The intensity with which he observed her. She wondered if he was like that all the time during sex, or if there was a point at which he became too turned on to analyse. She wondered which was sexier.

Whenever Hermione had found time to herself, this had been the occupation of her thoughts. Not what she was going to do next, or how she was supposed to look the man in the eye over breakfast, or whether it had been wise to tell him quite as much as she had. She spent her time masturbating.

And they called her the finest witch of her generation. That really was one hell of a monicker to live up to.

At first, when there was no contact from Snape, Hermione was relieved. The last thing she wanted was a relationship. She'd tried that with Ron and found that being domestic, even being monogamous, wasn't for her just at the moment. The thought of being tied anywhere, to anyone, was cloying. Her life had been narrowed to life or death during years which should have been her most care free, and she had grown determined that this was not the way she would live the rest of her life. There would be no boundaries, no rules, no pre-determined grooves which she should mindlessly follow. There would always be expectations from other people, there was no escaping that. But how she reacted to them and whether she met them or not were entirely her own decision. At the moment she was happy at Hogwarts. It afforded her the space, peace and resources to research, and teaching had its own rewards - but she would not stay more than two years. She wanted to travel. She didn't want to be bored. There was always the nagging fear that if she got bored, the memories and feelings from her teenage years, so harshly pushed down and out of the way in her mind, would surface and demand attention. Best to be busy. Best to keep moving.

Still, two days passed and Hermione became a little peeved. She was under the impression she had an effect on him. It was galling not to have him pursue her, just a little.

Perhaps, if she had stayed...

No. It was for the best that she left when she did. Hermione might have become slightly more impulsive as an adult than in her teenage years, but she still knew better than to tumble on a classroom floor with a colleague while stoned. Waking up the next morning would have been a hideous reality check. Leaving had been for the best.

Monday morning saw her buried in a book - a pile of books, in fact - working on translations. She was trying to tie the writings of John Dee's possession in the seventeenth century to a more recent possession in the American Deep South, and find a common language and rune usage between them. It involved flicking between three texts and some natty comparative text charms of her own devising. Needless to say, she was not very aware of her surroundings.

It took her by surprise, then, when a small paper aeroplane skidded to a halt on the text book before her. She frowned and glanced around. There were a group of students in the Potions section, a class of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor third or maybe second years. And there, overseeing, like the giant bat she loathed to recall, was Professor Snape.

Hermione stretched and rubbed her eyes, flicking her wand to dispel the charms. She flattened the aeroplane, then folded it into quarters and stashed it in the sleeve of her teaching robes. Muscles groaning with stiffness, she rose from her chair and drifted towards the gaggle of students.

Most of them had, by this point, taken text books to tables and were studying in near silence. Snape was drifting between the desks and the stacks. It was easy enough to intercept him and he seemed willing to glide close to Hermione.

"Did you just pass me a note during a study period?" She whispered, smirking as she raised her gaze to meet his.

He was smirking in return, actually looking very pleased with himself. "Tell it a lie and it will reveal its message."

"Very clandestine. Is that necessary?"

Snape frowned, suddenly on alert. It was like watching a dog that's spotted a rabbit far off and hadn't yet been told to fetch it.

"Accio note!" He hissed, and a scrap of parchment whistled through the air into his hand. At the table, one of the Gryffindor girls was turning an unpleasant shade of peuce. Snape opened the note and then turned it so she could see. A crude drawing of a woman in black robes pressed back against a bookshelf, while a man buried his large nose in her cleavage. "I think it's necessary," Snape growled. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for a painful lack of originality, Hopkins."

Her books engrossed her once more and Hermione had no time or attention for anything else. She had no students on a Monday, no obligation to attend meals. The note quite slipped her mind until she came to undress for her bath before dinner that evening and found it in the sleeve of her robes. It looked like just a normal sheet of parchment. She thought of the Marauder's Map and lay her wand against the crinkled surface. "My name is Harry Potter," she told it, and smiled when cramped, spidery handwriting slithered across the page:

"Firstly, I want you to know this is not an apology of any kind. We are both consenting adults who gained enjoyment from a shared sexual experience. And some pot. You left when you wanted and I didn't stop you. I am happy with the way things panned out. Pleasantly surprised.

"That said, it is difficult to open a dialogue with someone I have spent so much time actively avoiding. I would like to open a dialogue. 

"There is bad blood between us and, despite revelations on both sides Friday night that could be both costly and embarrassing, I suspect you still don't trust me. So here is your opportunity. Ask me anything. I will be busy with classes probably until the weekend, but I will write as full a reply as I can. And I will be truthful. How often do you find a Slytherin promising that?"

Hermione took the time to run her bath, as she had planned. She disrobed and soaked herself, scrubbed and rinsed away the library dust. There was nothing specific she wanted to know about her colleague. Rather, she appreciated the gesture of honesty and would take him up on it ... But she was more interested in spending time with him, conversing with him than asking a question and receiving a response. It felt too much like an interview. Not at all like building a ... rapport. 

She sighed, sending bubbles skidding across the surface of the water. Being close to Snape in the library, close enough to smell the faint sour scent of tobacco on him, had been a small thrill in her otherwise academic day. It would be nice to spend an hour in the bath, paying attention to the warm coil of pleasure standing close to him also caused, but there was no time. Not if she was going to return his note.

Out of the bath and wrapped in fluffy white towels, Hermione took a quill and wrote her question beneath his letter: "Tell me about Lily Potter." Best to keep it open. For all she knew it was still a sore subject, but she trusted him enough that something interesting would come from the request. 

The question now was how to Disappear the text once more. The Marauder's Map had a specific phrase that turned it blank once more but she had received no instructions of that kind. With a twist of her mouth, she placed the tip of her wand against the parchment. A lie had revealed it. Perhaps a truth would conceal it.

"Severus Snape is sexier than you might think," she said with a wry twist of her mouth. When the black writing seemed to melt into the page and vanish, she let out a dry laugh. "I hope it doesn't store up what you tell it," she muttered, slipping the parchment back into the sleeve of her robe as she dressed.

At dinner she took the long route around the high table, dropping the parchment into Snape's lap as she passed behind him, just as she used to when passing Ginny at breakfast when they were at school. It took a lot of effort not to giggle at the thought of passing notes to Professor Snape and more effort still not to look over her shoulder to check it had, in fact, been picked up by its intended target and no one else. His enchantment would protect the contents, but she wasn't entirely sure she could replicate the charm anew if the parchment were confiscated. 

As she sat in her seat at the end of the table beside Professor Vector, she leaned forward to reach for the salt and glanced down the table. Snape was eating and glowering at the Gryffindors. No sign of the parchment. This must surely be a good thing.

Dinner passed without incident. Professor Vector asked about her research and shared some insights, they discussed the possibility of a combined Ancient Runes and Arithmancy field trip to Stone Henge. It was a very pleasant dinner, though Hermione knew she was distracted. Snape left early as he often did. She sometimes wondered if he'd eaten anything at all. Minerva had, in a tipsy moment, revealed that after spending three weeks 'forgetting' meals, Dumbledore had obliged him to be present at each mealtime for at least ten minutes, on pain of losing his head of houseship. Hermione was not so hasty. Her feelings about House Elf rights aside, it was a relief to be fed regular nutritious meals, a luxury she had come to appreciate.

An hour or so later Hermione unwarded the floor length mirror that led to her private apartments. The mirror swung forward and she saw a fresh parchment Spellotaped to its back. She smirked and pulled it free, closing and warding the mirror behind her. She wondered how long the sneaky bastard had known the precise location of her rooms. Heaven knows, she had no idea where he roosted, besides that it was somewhere in 'his' dungeons. 

Hermione stretched and undressed, combed out her hair and brushed her teeth. It was not late, but she wanted to enjoy this letter and, given the blank parchment was a good three feet in length, she suspected it would make excellent bedtime reading.

Once she was snugly tucked under the covers, Hermione took out her wand and held it to the parchment. "Blondes have more fun," she said drily, unable to shake the suspicion that he might somehow be collecting whatever she said to the parchment. The lie was acceptable, and his spiky scrawl wrote itself across the page, covering it entirely. Hermione settled back into her pillows, and this is what she read:

An interesting choice. 

Lily was beautiful. In many ways I loved her from the moment I saw her when I was ten years old. There wasn't a lot of love when I was young, and I latched on to the first creature that showed me affection. I can be obsessive. It serves me well academically. Not so much socially. When we both came to Hogwarts I became very reluctant to share her, but wasn't left a lot of choice when she was sorted into Gryffindor. I still maintain the hat made a mistake. She would have made an excellent Slytherin.

Lust crowded in with affection when I was about fourteen. Which meant I had a year to enjoy wanking over her and hoping desperately that she might, one glorious day, let me touch he breast. After that, being surrounded by bigotry and intimidation and political unrest got the better of me. It is difficult to describe the way my feelings towards her changed in those very strange, dirty years. I still wanted her, still craved her attention and body; but at the same time I despised her for being Muggleborn, and for scorning me when I felt myself to be superior.

I consider myself lucky those feelings confined themselves to my adolescence. By the time I was twenty, she was married and I had found there was more than one cunt in the world. It might be inferior, but it was there nonetheless. My hate became less focused. We were estranged until my father died when I was twenty-one. She came to the funeral. She was different in some respects, entirely unchanged in many. Married life was not what she had expected. Being a wife restricted her in a way she had not anticipated. And then there was a baby on the way.

I became an avenue for her to vent her frustration. I did not judge, I was in no place to. And I kept her secrets. We fucked once. She was four months pregnant, just over the nausea and misery and frustration that had underscored the prior three. I was brewing her potions to help. They were about to make the family go into hiding. She was frightened about who would deliver the baby. Potter had been venting his frustration about the prospect of being cooped up, was spending less and less time at home. I'm not proud of it. I'm not ashamed either. She wanted to feel wanted, and I was more than happy to deliver. Even with his baby fluttering around inside of her, she was still the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

That was the last time I saw her alive. She expressed regret afterwards, most of the time. Very occasionally I would get a tearful letter saying she missed me and wished she could see me again. Wished I could hold her again. Whether that was honesty or desperation I don't know and I would rather not examine too closely.

The nobler types who remember how hard I worked to protect her like to think of me as some sort of desperate lunatic who's spent his life wanking over one woman and self flagellating because he will never have or deserve her. There has been a time for self flagellation. I still despise myself sometimes for not doing more, bargaining more with either side to ensure her safety. And I wonder what might have been. Yet life drags on relentlessly and I have not spent twenty-five years in abstinence for the sake of a dead woman. My life carried on.

So now I get a question in return. What are your intentions, Granger?

*

It was not the sexy missive Hermione realised she had been hoping for. Sitting opposite Snape on the Potions room floor, smoking his personal stash and flirting shamelessly had been exciting. Hermione sometimes mused that losing her adolescence to danger and battle had left her attracted to the sorts of behaviours in adulthood that should have been left at school. Jung would say that trauma had halted part of her development in her teenage years, the inner children doomed to forever act out the rebellions she never had the opportunity to live when they would have been relevant. As far as she knew the wizarding world didn't accept psychoanalysis.

Reading about Harry's mother carrying on an affair wasn't sexy. Interesting, yes. But not sexy. She spent a moment wondering, had she lived, had both the Potters lived, if they would be the happy family unit Harry had always imagined.

Her mind turned to his question. He, too, had left it open. What were her intentions? Towards him? Towards her job? Towards life in general?

Hermione heaved a sigh and summoned a quill and ink. She wasn't going to sleep until this was written.

As she took out a roll of parchment, Hermione smiled to herself. She thought of her first book deal, the negotiations over terms, boundaries, publishing rights and intellectual property. Was this their bargaining period? She shook her head, smirking to herself, and began to write out her terms.

*

Severus sank, if possible, a little deeper into his arm chair. His feet were propped on a stack of incredibly dull and largely inaccurate Potions texts. Shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, a tumbler of fire whiskey - his fifth - rested in the palm of his hand. He swirled the contents lazily, watching flames lick at the glass as the liquid rose and receded.

Nearly twenty-six years. He had never told anyone about the day Lily Flooed to Spinners End. She had been crying but she wasn't upset. Fury radiated from her. He didn't even have a chance to ask what the twat had done before she had him pushed against a book case. She was so little, she had to fist a hand in the front of his shirt and drag him down to her level to kiss him. Had he told anyone, he might have lied and said he put up an initial resistance. The truth was the moment he realised what was happening he made the most of it before she had a chance to come to her senses and leave. They ended up fucking on his desk. He was grateful it wasn't his first time. Fucking her wasn't the perfection he had always fantasised, and that reality might have crushed him a couple of years earlier. He had learned that sex is never perfect - that's precisely what makes it exciting.

Afterwards he had expected her to storm out or refuse to talk to him, leave without saying goodbye. Instead she thanked him. Kissed him. Picked up her underwear with dignity and put on the kettle. Before she left they had tea. She frowned and pushed his hair back and said he wasn't eating properly.

Severus heaved a sigh and downed his drink. He reached for the bottle on the floor and found it empty. Fuck. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyes. Perhaps he was drunk enough. Perhaps he could sleep without staring at the black ceiling and seeing a flush spread over what he could see of Hermione's breasts as he slid a finger inside her cunny.

His cock stirred half heartedly, even through the haze of alcohol and physical exhaustion.

One more glass.

He stood and steadied himself on the arm of the chair as the world shifted and swayed beneath him. Eventually it steadied and Severus took the three steps to his liquor cabinet. He did not stagger. He definitely did not stagger. He opened the cabinet and sighed.

"And when he got there the cupboard was bare. Fuck sakes!"

Snape turned and flung his tumbler against the far wall. Before the shards of glass had hit the floor his wands was out and they were reforming and flying back towards him. He caught the glass in his left hand. He used the momentum of the weight to throw it again, harder. No sooner had it exploded than it reformed and flew back to him once again. His hand was open, ready to receive the glass. Instead, an envelope nudged his palm. He frowned, glanced at it, took it from the air...

And his favourite tumbler smashed into the wall beside his head.

"Fuck!"

Snape flicked his wand. Sluggishly the glass reformed. He growled as some small shards wriggled free from his face to return to the tumbler. He ran his thumbnail over the glass as he examined it, trying to feel the tiny veins showing his blood, fused into the tumbler. He smiled. Only because he was alone. And because magic sometimes still made him happy, if only for a split second before the hideousness of existence nudged him back into his normal frame of mind.

He flicked a handkerchief from thin air and held it to the side of his face. Smears of blood. Only a scratch.

Now, what was the bloody letter.

"'Professor S Snape'. Very formal, Ms Granger." He slit it open with his wand and drew out the parchment from within. "Terms of agreement between the author and publisher as agreed on... What on earth?" He scanned the paper down to the bottom line. "Do you agree to the terms of service?" He frowned and rested the tip of his wand against the parchment. "Terms agreed," he said shortly, and smirked as the letters shuffled around the page.

Snape dropped back into his armchair, the need for an alcohol induced oblivion temporarily forgotten. This is what he read:

My intentions. In writing this I found the difficulty was that there are a lot of things I don't want, which obscured the things I do want. I think I know how difficult it must have been to write to me about Lily. I have done my best to repay your honesty.

1) I intend to live my life, as much as I possibly can, without influence or pre-conception based on my past. There are advantages to what I have done and the way I have done it - money, privilege - but there are also draw backs. Like people thinking they get to decide what I do and how I do it. I don't want to be controlled. I want to be free to make my own decisions. Even bad ones.

2) I intend to be free. I intend to achieve this by avoiding committed romantic relationships, being financially stable as much as I can, and embracing opportunities.

3) I intend to make the most of any opportunity. I know I already wrote that once, but I think it deserves repeating. It's easy to be cynical and not recognise the possibilities that are presented every day. As a Slytherin, you know this. Maybe I need to be a little more Slytherin. I'm proud of what I achieved as a teenager, but I have more to give. I'm not going to live in a rut. I'm not going to be Mrs Anyone. I am my own person.

4) And my intentions towards you. I suppose that's what you really wanted. I'm not going to waste parchment saying I find you sexy - that much is self evident. I will say I find you interesting. You aren't what I expected. And I think ... I really think that contrary to what anybody looking at us externally might think, we have a very similar way of looking at things.

So my intentions. I'd like to spend more time with you. That simple. I'd like to see if you can get me topless again - and be warned, I'll be on my guard next time. And I'd like to offer my honesty, in return for yours. Truth is a rare commodity.

So, what do you say? Do you agree to my terms?"

Snape smirked. "Terms agreed," he murmured under his breath. Then he frowned as the words shuffled on the page once again, creating an additional final line.

"Delighted to hear it. We both have a free period Thursday morning for a lie in. Wednesday night, my rooms? You obviously know where they are. BYO tobacco unless you want my chemically enhanced filth."

He stood and considered his face in the mirror over the fireplace. Two bright cuts stood out: one on his temple, the other on his cheek. They would be easily healed. He was otherwise an ugly man. There was no getting around that. He thought of Cissy, pissed at Christmas and looking up at him from beneath magically enhanced eyelashes. "You can be sexy without being good looking, you know," she had murmured in a husky voice. She was a tease and he never got much out of her but longing looks and a snog or two when Lucius was in Azkaban, but there must have been something in that. 

Sexy without being good looking. Apparently so.


	3. Waves of Uncertainty

It was a minor inconvenience but he had chosen to walk to her rooms. Fire whiskey didn't tend to Floo well and he had high hopes for the evening. Kicking it off with second degree burns would not be the way to start.  
He stood casually before the mirror entrance and discretely asked that she be informed he was there. Snape stood with his back to the mirror. He did not need to check his appearance. He looked like an enormous vampire bat, as usual. Confirming this would be counterproductive. Granger knew what he looked like and had invited him anyway.

A soft click behind him. He turned and saw the mirror had swung outwards. Hermione stood in the doorway. He pulled back one side of his teaching robes, revealing the secreted bottle of Old Ogden's. "I hope you're thirsty because I'm not touching that stuff!" She said as she stood aside to let him enter.

Snape had brought a small quantity of hash for her and a couple of pre-rolled cigarettes for himself. 

During the day he had been worried they would be stiff and formal with one another. Or rather, that he would fall into his prickly default setting and ruin everything. He was quick to pour himself a glass of fire whiskey, gulping the fiery lubricant and feeling himself relax just marginally.

"Easy tiger," she murmured, smirking as he shot her a withering look. She wasn't looking at him and so the effects were lost. She was focused on rolling her first joint. Even from the other wide of the room he could smell the chemicals on the commercial tobacco. Hermione rolled and licked along the paper, smoothing it into place, then twisted the roach. She grinned up at him and went to the window, pushing it wide open.

Her apartments were small. Cozy, he suspected was the word Minerva had used to sell it. Warmly furnished and decorated, with one curved wall echoing the curved exterior of the tower. The window was small with a deep sill, just big enough for two to sit on. She perched on the sill and took an ugly plastic lighter from the book shelf to spark up, then offered it to him.

"Lucius Malfoy once told me that everyone in the room knew I had Muggle blood the moment I sparked up because I used a lighter instead of a wand." He took out a rollie and bent his head to meet her offered flame, watching the tip and puffing. 

When he looked up she was watching him curiously. "Does it matter?"

He took out the cigarette and joined her at the window, not sitting - he wasn't yet ready for that closeness - but leaning out to blow the smoke into the cold night air. "It mattered then."

"You still use a lighter," she said.

Snape inclined his head. "I was never allowed to forget I had Muggle blood anyway. And the lighter was my Father's. I hexed him to do it the moment I came of age. It was a good story to bandy about the common room."

"Was it just a story?" She asked.

He stared out at the shadowed Hogwarts grounds. In his mind he saw the old man, furious from being antagonised. Snape watched the clock on the wall, waited for midnight, drew out his ire as long as he could before a fist would fly. He might still be scrawny, but dear Daddy had no way of knowing how powerful his son could be. The first clout landed on Severus' ear, stunning him. Midnight struck. Severus stunned his father in return, again and again until he was cringing on the floor. He took the lighter from the old man's hand, just because that's what he happened to be holding, and Severus found he wanted to take whatever he could lay his hands on before Tobias found a way to get around the magic and put him back under the thumb.

"Not one I tell any more." He narrowed his eyes at Hermione. "Is it true you charmed your parents to forget about you?"

She held her breath and wouldn't meet his eye, then blew smoke from the corner of her mouth so it spouted out of the window. She nodded. "I thought about trying to find them but ... I don't know how I would explain. At least I kept them safe."

Snape sent up thanks that he was alone. Voldemort killed the only person he really cared about and he had been careful not to form attachments ever since.

"Tell me about the legilimency," she said. It was an obvious change of subject but at least she was smiling - though it was in the hazy, lop-sided way that suggested the pot was already helping to mellow her out. It wasn't that Snape objected to Granger's need for chemical anaesthesia; he was in no position to judge. He just felt curious as to how she would behave around him sober.

Snape conjured a tumbler and poured a generous measure of fire whiskey, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He took it out to drink, flicking ash out of the window. "I'm surprised you didn't research the topic to death in you fifth year."

She grinned at him, stubbing out her cigarette and crossing her arms. She was cold but didn't move away from the window. If Snape didn't know any better, he'd think she enjoyed being somewhere where he had to get close in order to smoke out of the window. "I did, as much as I could get from the school library without a pass to the restricted section. But the methods of application apparently lacked imagination."

He snorted at her repeat of his taunt to the Gryffindor fourth year in the library. Snape lifted the tumbler to his lips and enjoyed the scorch of the fire before drinking it down. "You'd be surprised how much of magic has a sexual application, if you're adventurous enough to try it."

"So tell me, Severus Snape. How do you make a woman come without touching her?"

He smirked. "Are you asking me to tell of show you?" She spread her hands in response, a means of saying 'game for anything' without actually speaking the words. Uptight Hermione was still present, which somehow made it all the more exciting. He ploughed on without waiting for her response, "Showing you wouldn't be easy, not to the full extent of causing an orgasm. Not impossible, but it would take a lot of time and rooting around in your head. Which I don't suspect you'd want. You need to know your partner, know what's turns them on, know which feelings to manipulate. Much like causing a physical orgasm, I suppose. But with a bit more skill."

Hermione lifted her feet up onto the window sill, creating a more physical barrier. Snape followed her cue and shifted slightly away, leaning back against the window frame and watching her carefully. It was irksome, he knew, to think about someone digging around in your mind, through your memories. That was precisely what had led him to learn Occlumency. But the study of one tended to lead to the study of the other, and some people had fascinating minds.

"Show me?" She asked. "A little bit?"

A little bit. He smirked. "Try to keep yourself open to me. It's natural to fight, and some people are better at that than others. Potter was terrible at it, but you never know. Try to relax."

He watched her take a deep breath and waited for her to open his eyes and look at him, a sign she was ready. He took his wand from his sleeve and focused his mental energy on her. "Legilimens!"

Snape acclimatised to the shape and methods of Hermione's mind as quickly as he could. Orderly and surprisingly accessible - though he noted there were some dark recesses hidden behind sturdy walls. Finding the memory he wanted to draw out, for his own enjoyment as much as hers, was easy.

He saw himself through her eyes, experienced him as she had. The smell of smoke and herbs, potions smells. All dark hair and angles and sallow skin, but she didn't seem to mind. She was close to him. She could feel the heat of his body, and was surprised at it, as though she had expected him to be cold. She liked his eyes. She liked watching his eyes. And more than this, she liked how close he was allowing her to get, not just physically but mentally. She liked that he was letting her in, letting his guard down. That was what turned her on, besides the weed and the subject matter and the idea of how raw and wrong fucking him might be.

His hand against her skin felt good. His fingers were sliding closer to the wetness she knew was there, had felt pooling between her legs for the last hour. Standing on the Astronomy tower watching him smoke, seeing the way he was when he thought no one was watching. Snape pushed that memory away. He focused on touching her.

"There," she whispered.

His touch was so light, too light. She wanted friction. She wanted to fuck. In the memory her attention dropped to the hardness she could see in his trousers. He felt her curiosity. Snape pushed his own feelings towards her, offering them like a gift. He offered the heat and coiled tightness, the uncomfortable feeling of confinement. He felt her curiosity, the first delicate exploration of this feeling he put to her. 

She wanted to give him everything he desired, wanted to give the the warmth and pressure and sensation that would get him off. Hermione didn't have the skill or the shared experience. She didn't know how to sieve through his memories to find something she could manipulate, as he could if he had the time or patience.

He calmed her, refocused her attention. He was slipping his finger inside of her. And here she teetered on the knife edge between lust and shame. All of her arguments against everything she was doing washed over him: this was a teacher, a colleague, he hated her, he would have expectations she couldn't meet, would never meet. This was wrong, but she wanted it so much. The only answer was to leave.

Snape worked the memory backwards, not letting her leave, not letting her feel that final dismissal - though he was curious how she had filled her evening after leaving him. She was aroused, she must have got herself off. There was a flash of feeling, lying in the dark rubbing her clit, a desperate heat that wasn't quite good enough but got the job done in the end. Snape smirked and drew the memory back to the delicious moment of penetration, her cunt lips parting for him, the promise of more. He focused on her need and want and desire, mingled the fear in amongst only as a means to heighten the sensation.

Hermione's mind was trying to communicate with him, though she didn't yet have the focus required. He got a sense of what she was saying. She echoed the feelings he wa pushing on her, intensifying them, showed a dual desire to reciprocate and to enjoy more. More. That was the overwhelming impression.

Reflexively Snape out out his hand to steady himself as he withdrew from Hermione's mind. He braced at the knee, as though he had fallen from a great height and somehow managed to land on his feet. He opened his eyes and focused on a point straight ahead until the world was done tilting. He breathed.

Hermione wasn't used to the sensation. Automatically Severus' free hand shot out to steady her on the window sill as she flailed for purchase, threatening to topple onto the floor. She was breathing heavily. Panting. They both were.

She moved first, taking his arm roughly at the elbow and pulling him in towards her. Snape had made a promise to himself that he would not be the one to make a move. His pride demanded she initiate whatever was going to happen. He didn't want her running off again - and now his wish had been granted.

His taste buds were dulled by the cigarettes. Hermione didn't taste of anything to him. But her mouth was warm and soft and willing. He loomed above her, leaning his forearm against the window frame to lean closer to her, pressing her back against the wall. Hermione didn't hold back. Her tongue was quick to press against his lips, and he eagerly opened his mouth to her. Snape's other hand slid along her thigh. Nylon again. He smiled, safe in the knowledge that she would not see. Fingers slid up until the shiny fabric until they brushed against skin. Hermione pulled back just a fraction. Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated by lust and pot. "I thought you'd like that."

Snape attacked her mind again, ignoring the added arousal he felt at her desire to please him, the fact she had considered what he liked. His hand moved smoothly to the inside of her thigh. Hermione parted her legs for him without a murmur, one foot sliding down onto the floor. His fingertips pressed against her panties. "Already?" He murmured, teasing her folds through the sensible cotton. So wet already, and all for him.

"Bedroom," she said against his lips. Against his nature and better judgement, Snape grinned. He nipped at her lower lip and moved back to give her space to stand.

Hermione breezed past him towards the only door in the room. She glanced over her shoulder at him, chestnut curls flicking out and then framing her face. Her hands were at the front of her blouse, working down the buttons as she crossed the room. Snape followed her eagerly, shedding his own clothes. Slytherin, dungeon dwelling lawyers dropped to the floor with each step: teaching robes, coat, waistcoat. By the time he entered her bedroom he was removing cuff links and slipping them into his trouser pocket, tugging at the knot of his cravat.

A glance around Hermione's bedroom was an interesting experience. He wondered if this was the first room she had been allowed to decorate herself - childhood in a shared dormitory, a few years spent sharing houses, flats, renting soulless shells. 

The room was hippyish, he supposed. She was born to the wrong generation. A lava lamp, a desk lamp and an overhead light with a shade of rich autumn colours provided the only light in the room. Book cases, two walls' worth, showed how Ms Granger liked to spend her book royalties and Ministerial compensation. Along with the books were eastern figures, a small shrine made up to the Muggle elephant headed god decorated with magical moving photographs of her friend and still ones of her parents. He had expected a tidy freak, and the bed was made, the floor clear - but clothes spilled from open drawers, adorned the desk chair, and her desk was littered with books and quills.

Hermione cleared her throat. As he drew his attention back to her, she let her skirt fall to the ground.

In an instant, Snape was on her again, one hand roughly grabbing the nape of her neck, the other sliding underneath her buttock, lifting her close and tight against him as he kissed her again. He rocked his hips against hers, grinding his hard cock against her body. Hermione's hands were working on his shirt and Snape slid his hand down from her neck to her bra, unsnapping it in a single clean move. She shrugged off the bra and drew his hand to her breast without breaking the kiss. Such heat, such softness. Snape pinched and rolled her nipple, earning a squeak against his lips that made his cock jump.

She pushed at his shoulders and Snape helped her to shrug his shirt off. He lifted her against him again. It wasn't like him to be desperate, fucking Lily as soon as was humanly possible aside. Severus prided himself on taking care of a woman's needs. With looks like his, he needed something to boost his chances.

As though reading his mind, Hermione pulled back just a little. "Fuck me," she growled. "Now."

Her hands were at his trousers then, working the fly. If he were a young man he would pick her up and fuck her against the book case, where the smiling waving picture of Saints Potter and Weasley could see. She was small but the last thing he wanted to do was risk fucking up his back when there was obviously so much still to come. 

A hand wrapped around his cock and squeezed.

Snape melted into Hermione, pulling her close as she started pumping the length of his dick, growling against her neck as he kissed and bit and sucked on any skin he could reach. Distantly he registered she was backing him up, and when his calves nudged the bed he sat heavily. Hermione shimmied her knickers down her legs, kicking them off at the ankle. And then she was on him, straddling his lap, taking him in hand and working his cock against her snatch. He wanted to kiss her but she was watching him - and in her eyes he could see just how much she enjoyed watching him.

Hermione sank slowly onto his cock. He could feel her cunt opening for him, wet and willing and ready. So good. So fucking good.

She laughed, a single hoarse sound, and Snape realised he had been speaking aloud. He glared at her to save face, but her cunny muscles squeezed around him and his face collapsed into a frown of concentrated pleasure. 

Slowly she worked her hips, up and down, back and fore. His long fingers dug into her arse. He let her set the pace but was desperate to hold her, feel her, cling on to every inch of flesh he could reach. He opened his eyes and looked up at her as she swayed and rocked in the dim warm light. He leaned back against the bed. Hermione scratched blunt nails down his chest in a way that made him grunt and push up into her.

"Touch me," she breathed, her voice high and hoarse.

Severus slid his hand between their bodies. Swollen, sticky cunt lips. Then calloused fingers found the hard little nub of her clit. Her muscles clenched around him, squeezing steadily tighter and tighter. He flicked her sensitised flesh without mercy, for that moment wanting nothing so much as to watch her spill over into orgasm.

She leaned forwards on him, hands braced on his chest as she ground against his hand. As she got closer she worked just the top couple of inches in and out of her cunt, rocking rather than fucking in a way that was maddening. White hot, intense pleasure, nearly more than he could bare, and all he could do was hold on and refuse to come. He pressed his fingers flush to her cunt, giving her all the pressure and friction she needed. Then she watched her eyes squeeze tight shut, her body go rigid and her cunny start to spasm around him.

Snape left her no time to recover. He flipped her over and started fucking her just the way he wanted: deep and hard and rough. He pounded her until their hips slapped together, pushing her up the bed with every thrust. Her cries here muffled against his collarbone, but he could feel how wet she was. 

Only a few minutes, that's all it took. Then he buried himself inside of her, as deep as he could. Hips still working, he collapsed on top of her for just a moment, then shifted to the side. Reflexively he drew her to him, arm wrapped around her shoulders, her head sliding comfortably onto his chest.

"I thought you had a small cock?"

Snape clenched his jaw, halfway between laughter and anger. After glow was never a settling experience for him. Neuroses set in too quickly. Other people had endorphins, he had fear and self loathing. "Not large isn't synonymous with small. I believe I'm average."

"Nothing average about you." She kissed his chest. The eyes that looked up at him were black. Would she have fucked him if she wasn't stoned?

"Hey," she said softly. Her hand was on his cheek, guiding his gaze down to her. She was focused and frowning. Here it came. Snape girded himself for the ceremonial throwing out of her apartments, hoping he would have a chance to grab the fire whiskey before being hexed into the hall ways. "Stop thinking," she said softly.

"Easier for some than others," he replied.

She scrutinised him. "You're worried I'm going to chuck you out."

He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't practice legilimency."

Hermione snorted and rolled away from him, reaching for a packet of Muggle cigarettes on the bedside table. "You're not nearly as subtle as you think." She crossed to the only wall that had no bookshelf and pulled back a wall hanging. Another window, the mirror of the one in the living room, lay behind. She opened it and lit her cigarette, perching on the window sill as she had before. Naked but for the stockings and suspenders, her nipples hardened from the cold air. She leaned back her head and exhaled the smoke. The winter night blew the smoke back into the room so it swirled around her, then drew it out again. The moon was full and painted her body an eerie, watery shade of white. Her eyes her dark, face shadowed by the thick curtain of her hair, which hung nearly to her elbows. Snape propped himself up on one elbow, trying to decide if she was the most beautiful woman who had ever permitted him to fuck her. 

She turned her head to him and smiled lazily - he saw the pale shine of her teeth. She held out the cigarette to him.

Snape wasn't quite as comfortable with the idea of standing partially naked in the window. Below them he could see the light of Hagrid's hut. But he took the cigarette from her and breathed a drag, leaning over her to blow the smoke out the window. She reached back to him, not pulling him closer or stroking or nuzzling. Just touching him. Her fingers were warm. Their tips brushed along his ribs. It tickled but he fought the urge to shy away. 

Hermione looked up at him and leaned her head against his chest. "Did you enjoy that?"

The taste of commercial tobacco made his nose wrinkle and he passed the perfectly machine formed cigarette back to her. "Obviously."

"You say that, but you look like you just had to sit through an audience with Gilderoy Lockhart."

He frowned through the temptation to smile. "I'm not good at this part."

"You mean you're not usually present for this part." The cigarette was done already. She stubbed it out and let the butt rest on the window sill. He smirked. She wouldn't just flick it out. God forbid anyone find cigarette stubs, floors and floors beneath her window. He had no doubt she would incinerate it later. "If you're uncomfortable you can go. It's up to you. But I'm not throwing you out." She kissed his chest, a gesture of affection that made him uncomfortable, his chest tight. "I enjoyed that. I want to do it again."

He looked at her for a long time, watching for signs that she was laughing at him. He thought of Lily, who fucked him in a fit of anger against her husband. She should have been angry at him. Instead she made him tea. He had fucked Hermione for no reason whatsoever - just because he wanted to. She should be throwing him out, but she offered him a cigarette. A hideous, poisonous cigarette, but the gesture was well meant.

Slowly Snape pressed a kiss to Hermione's damp forehead. "I need to go," he said softly. He didn't want to make her angry or upset. She smiled, but he wasn't sure if she meant it. "Good night, Hermione."


	4. Slice of Life

Stretching in the warm nest of her bed then curling back up into a snug ball, Hermione was always grateful for a lie in. Her schedule was good enough to provide her a midweek extra on top of the weekend, and she distinctly remembered sending up silent thanks to the deputy head when she saw her timetable. Hermione plumped her pillow and repositioned herself, checking her watch on the dressing table. She should get up and dressed and head down for a late breakfast.  
The sight of the cold, crisp morning outside kept her horizontal. It looked like a good day to be under a blanket. There's work to be done, she told herself sternly. Children to teach, books to translate. You can't live your life from your bed.

There had been days - weeks even - where that had been a tempting prospect. She had never thought of herself as depressed, not after everything she had survived without seemingly batting an eyelid. It had been difficult to accept that the emotional repercussions might come afterwards; that while it was easy to be awake at a moment's notice when there were Death Eaters breathing down their necks, it was much harder when there was nothing to get up for. Not nothing, not precisely. But nothing that would lead to fatalities. No one would die if she didn't eat breakfast. In the months after she left Hogwarts to go out and find her place in the world, she had found it increasingly hard to know what to do, where to go, how she was supposed to act.

In many respects, writing had saved her. It offered her a project that she could think was important. As long as she was active and thinking, she was not remembering. This was the aim of the game.

So one book was published, and Hermione got stuck again. She decided on a new book, but even that didn't seem to give her the right drive to get up and live. Returning to Hogwarts had been Harry's idea. Instill a routine. Be around people. Eat proper meals. It made her cringe internally that he had pushed her so hard to make these positive steps, when he had been through so much more and seemed fine.

At least she didn't have Ron nagging her any more. Their brief spark of a relationship had been blessedly short lived. There were some things that were so much better in the imagination, and being the full time girlfriend of Ronald Weasley had been one of them. She remembered once telling him he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. It turned out that statement had been generous.

"Hermione Granger," she said aloud to the room, trying to sound like her mother, "You have to the count of three to get out of bed!"

Hermione didn't count. She sighed and got up instead. There were levels of indignity she couldn't stoop to, even on her own in her own bedroom. As she eased up she felt a warm, pleasant ache between her legs and grinned. She reached for her cigarettes and lighter and sparked up, standing and opening the window. Cigarette hanging from her mouth, she pulled on her dressing gown quickly, huddling down into it and squinting out at the bright day.

"I fucked Professor Snape," she said as she extracted the cigarette from her mouth and blew the smoke out the window. The words made her smile. She wasn't one to rebel, but having sex with someone almost everybody she knew and loved despised was quite a coup. Not that that was why she had done it. She did it for the same reason she did everything: because she wanted to. No one could argue with that. And if one thing was certain it was that she wanted to do it again.

Hermione closed her eyes and recalled his face when he flipped her over and started really pounding into her. She remembered the sound of his breath, his voice when he spoke to her. Her body responded to the memories, warmth settling and thrumming between her legs. She could only hope he thought so warmly about her that morning.

His post-coital bolt wasn't really surprising, she supposed. Not that she knew a great deal about his romantic past, but he wasn't close to anyone. The only woman he had ever loved had died. Even when she was a teenager he struck her as a very lonely man - and deservedly so, she had thought at the time. Whatever made someone a good fuck, though, he had that in spades. Maybe not experience, but intensity, passion, attention to detail. All the things that made him a great wizard also made him a great lover. And he seemed to share her views about keeping things casual, which could only be good.

Hermione stubbed out her cigarette and went to get dressed. She picked out a pair of stockings and, with a mischievous smile, wondered if she could think up a way to let Snape know she was wearing them. 

By the time she had dressed, tamed her hair, donned her teaching robes and made her way down to the Great Hall, most of the students and staff were filtering out to go about their day. There would be time to grab some toast and marmalade, and probably peace and quiet to read a book while she ate.

As she entered the hall, she nearly walked straight in to the man who had made her ache so pleasantly. She smiled, taking a step back. Snape did not smile. Nor did he scowl, which was tantamount to a warm greeting, based on the way he would normally behave towards people first thing in the morning. "Granger," he said by way of greeting.

"Good morning, Professor Snape," Hermione said, not immediately meeting his eye. She was looking at the students nearby, suddenly paranoid. When she did look up at him he was frowning and tight lipped.

She saw his wand slip out from his sleeve and he mumbled a Muffliato at the nearby gaggle of sixth years. Tilting her head to one side, Hermione wondered if she was about to witness Severus Snape apologising. She couldn't remember ever having witnessed such a thing before.

"I assume I'm welcome to your apartments on Friday nights as well, as early mornings aren't an issue. Correct?"

Hermione felt a smile at his pure gumption twitching the corners of her mouth. Being outraged would be too easy, and probably what he half wanted. "You're welcome to my rooms any evening. I simply reserve the right to kick you out when I've had enough."

He sniffed. "That's your prerogative."

They stood for a moment looking at each other. Neither willing to admit they wanted a repeat of the night before, yet both silently understanding that this was the case. If Hermione had been a romantic woman she would have wished they could kiss. As it was, she was content with the slow flick of his eyes down her body. She saw his attention pause at her legs. Then he looked back up to meet her eyes and raised a questioning eyebrow. The low heat that she was beginning to associate closely with Severus Snape thrummed between her legs and, smirking, she nodded once. Yes, she had worn stockings. Yes, to a certain extent, she had worn them for him. He looked penetratingly into her eyes and, for a moment, she wondered if he was poking around her mind without permission. The smallest of smiles curled his lips as he appraised her once more before swishing away, his black robes billowing behind him.

Snape did come to her rooms on Friday night, accepting the glass of red wine she offered instead of bringing his own bottle of spirits. She was pleased that the glass was only half drunk. Their preamble was less stalling, less nervous. Snape kissed her as she smoked. He lifted her skirt so he could appreciate her stockings. She flicked ash out of the window and watched him through hooded eyes as he parted her legs and knelt between them, showing just how much he appreciated her choice of attire. He made her come with his mouth, and she was disappointed not to save her orgasm for when they had sex - but it didn't matter. She would still enjoy. Climax wasn't everything.

He fucked her slowly, almost tenderly, as though determined himself to make it last as long as possible. She suspected he was trying to make her come again, and wondered if he was frustrated when it didn't happen. After he came, she licked him clean again as a consolation prize. Within moments his cock started to show interest again. She grinned, looking up at him as she sucked his prick between her lips. Disheveled was a look that suited him: lips parted, teeth bared, a pink flush high on his cheek bones and his hair in a lank disarray. He combed long fingers through her hair and urged her on until she swallowed his spunk. Severus growled and grunted when he came, like receiving so much pleasure caused him physical pain.

They had managed to actually get naked this time. Severus had even permitted her, eventually, to remove her stockings. Smoking by the window afterwards, she looked over his body. He was completely unabashed about his nakedness, now it was out there. His body was slim and wiry, chorded muscles standing out against the skin with little flesh in between. Against his pale skin the patches and trails of dark hair stood out like India ink on parchment. He lay with I his hands behind his head, eyes closed, frowning even when he was at peace. 

He dressed without being prompted, but without leaving the impression that he had bolted. Hermione kissed him goodbye in her dressing gown. Perhaps that was sentimental, but she wasn't entirely without feeling.

Snape surprised her by appearing outside her mirror door the next night as well. He offered no explanation but kissed her, plucking at her clothes. Hermione wasn't about to complain - though he tasted strongly of fire whiskey. It didn't seem to harm his capabilities.

Thereafter, having discovered she was true to her word and he was welcome, Snape floo'ed or knocked on her mirror every couple of days. On a school night he would not stay long, sometimes only dropping in for a drink and a smoke on the way back to the dungeons after his nightly patrol. Other times they would kiss, grope. But she noted nudity only happened when they had the luxury of taking their time, and for this she was grateful. He was good enough to respect her boundaries and Hermione had no doubt that, if she was not in the mood for company, he would excuse himself without needing to be asked. In many ways, he was quite intuitive.

Outside of Hermione's apartments, they carried on very much as they always had. Which is to say, they ignored each other almost entirely. They might nod to each other at breakfast or exchange a greeting in the library. But he showed no interest in her research, and she made no effort to get closer to him. 

Though there was one occasion, at the weekly staff meeting, where Minerva raised the need to start supervised revision sessions in the run up to the December exams. She went through the list of compulsory subjects and waited for a teacher to volunteer to supervise, along with the subject head. When 'Potions' was read, she was left looking expectantly at the small gaggle of teachers for some time. Hermione glanced at Snape, who was studiously examining his hands. The fact his colleagues still seemed to have issues trusting him, still treated him as something of a pariah despite his rank as deputy head, didn't seem to bother him. Unless you happened to know how much fire whiskey he drank after patrol each night.

Hermione slowly, silently raised her hand. Minerva raised her eyebrows, but carried on the list without comment. When she looked at him, Snape was still studying his hands, a small frown deepening the crease between his eyebrows.

"Not very good at subtlety, are you?" He hissed at her when he floo'ed to her rooms that evening.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, biting back her temper. "Don't take it personally. No one else was going to volunteer and I'm a peace maker. I would have done the same for anyone."

Snape smirked, as though that was precisely what he had expected all along. Then he pushed her against the wall, none too gently, his bony hand biting into her shoulder and hip as he kissed her hard enough to bruise. They fucked there, her knickers torn away, gripping onto his robes for purchase.

When he came, Snape rested his head against the wall above her shoulder breathing hard. She had not come. She had not particularly enjoyed it - and he knew it. He breathed and slowly relaxed. Twice he drew a breath as though about to say something, and then let it go. Instead he dropped to his knees and licked her clean in penance, holding her hips again as she bucked and writhed against his mouth.

In the morning Hermione had rich purple bruises on her hip. She sighed and healed them before going to breakfast. Severus asked if she was well, a muscle in his cheek jumping and his eyes boring into her. "Of course," she replied breezily. But as soon as she met his eyes she could feel him flicking through her mind, sifting out the memory of just a few moments past, of the purple-black finger marks on her skin.

Again he looked ready to apologise, but didn't.

He came to her that night. It was only when he was stone cold sober that she noticed how much he must really drink. He tasted of cigarettes and breath mints, with no sour bite of whiskey. His eyes were sharp and he missed nothing - not that she suspected he missed much anyway, but his focus was intense. Snape lay her on the bed and spent hours kissing and stroking and touching her body, watching her face for every small reaction.

Hermione came hard after an hour of teasing, her arousal staying high for once, to the point where she wondered if she would come again. The very act of wondering seemed to scupper that idea, and though she enjoyed Severus' attentions she longed for him to just fuck her.

As he finally stripped his trousers, he pulled her on top of him and purposely smoothed his hands over her thighs. He pushed up inside of her, straining as he got close and Hermione kept on teasing and grinding, rolling her hips and tightening her cunt muscles around him. He came with his hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles turned white.

Hermione lay on top of him for a long time. He didn't seem to mind.

"I'm not made of China, you know," she whispered against his ear. "I heal. It's fine."

One hand rose up from the sheets and settled on the small of her back, thumb rubbing back and fore. "It's not fine," he said.

She pulled his other hand up to wrap his arms around her, collapsing against his chest and enjoying the warmth of his body. "You can make it up to me with a hug. And when your dignity has taken a suitable quantity of battering, it will be fine. You don't have to think about it."

His arms tightened fractionally around her. "I didn't think this sort of thing would be welcome."

"I'm not vain enough to think that you can't hug me without falling madly in love with me. Sometimes we all need some physical comfort."

"I thought that's what we had anyway." She could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Well," she said, lifting from him and immediately missing the heat from his body. "There's more than one way to skin a skrewt."

It was the first week of December when Severus offered to admit Hermione to his rooms in the dungeon. The invitation came quite out of the blue and, when made, Hermione accepted immediately before he could change his mind. She would follow his normal routine, making a nine o'clock sweep for students out after curfew, finishing in the dungeons. 

The responsibility was supposed to be performed on a rota basis, two staff walking the corridors per night. But everyone knew that Severus suffered with insomnia and would walk the hallways and would be stalking the hallways anyway. Minerva said she had caught him often as a sixth or seven year just walking through the castle and sent him back to bed with a flea in his ear, only to catch him again a couple of weeks later. It had become an informal arrangement that the teachers only really needed one patrol rota, unless Snape specifically said otherwise for some reason.

Hermione walked as quietly as she could through the dark halls, her wand lit and held before her. It still felt wrong to disturb the sleeping castle. She still felt like a student out of bed. Even the portraits were snoring softly as she passed them, some grumbling quietly in their sleep about the light. If the ghosts were wandering, she didn't see them. If students were canoodling in dark corners, they did so very quietly.

Hermione had covered the Astronomy Tower - killing two birds with one stone by checking the lovers lane of Hogwarts and stopping for a very quick smoke - then toured the floors of the three above-ground common rooms. At last she headed down towards the dungeons. Perhaps it was a trick of the mind, but it seemed darker below ground level. The walls seemed to radiate cold. She pulled her teaching robes tighter around her and picked up her pace, wishing she had thought to wear a jumper under her robes. Snape wouldn't mind, her clothes seldom lasted long anyway. 

Down the stairs and along narrow passages, past the statue of Stellan the Sly and on to the Potions classroom. From there it would only be a masked left turn and the tapestry concealing the door to Snape's rooms should be obvious. 

Hermione paused just past the classroom. She stood very still, trying to breathe quietly. A muffled noise, close by. She turned back to the classroom and noticed that the door was ajar.

Years after the war, after living on the run for a year, after fearing for what might lie around every corner she still feared what might hide behind a classroom door. She chided herself mentally. If she wasn't careful she was going to turn into Mad Eye. All his paranoia didn't save him in the end. She felt a pang of loss and of disappointment at herself for such a harsh thought.

Even at Hogwarts, the world could still seem frightening in the dark.

In a burst of courage and with a curse ready in her mind, she opened the door wide.

The room looked empty. Yet she could still hear a muffled sound. It sounded like someone crying.

Walking between the empty desks, the abandoned pots of ink and scratchy, broken quills, and stacked empty cauldrons, Hermione cast her light about the room. In a corner at the back there was a huddled shape. Squinting past the brightly lit wand tip and the encroaching shadows, Hermione could make out a hunched figure. He was definitely weeping, black clothed shoulders shaking.

"Excuse me?" Hermione said, feeling guilty for intruding until she remembered that she was a teacher, not a student; that she was there to send students back to bed. "You're out after curfew."

The boy turned and narrowed dark little eyes at her. Inky hair hung to his jaw. It needed a wash. She stepped closer and he hastily scrubbed his sleeve over his eyes, though she could see even in the darkness that they were puffy from crying. His tie was green and silver, a Slytherin crest sewn to his black school robes. A second or third year, she would guess. He had that gangly look they got during the growth spurts, like his arms and legs were too long for the rest of his body. A prominent hooked nose distracted from the rest of his face, which Hermione reflected was unfortunate. She remembered how it felt, knowing her over bite was the first thing people noticed about her. Feeling ugly. 

He rubbed under his nose and sniffed loudly. Hermione frowned. "What's wrong?" She asked.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

She would guess his voice had broken very recently. He didn't seem used to it yet. 

As he wiped a bony, sallow hand over his face his sleeve listed. A large mottled bruise encircled his wrist, deep brown and ugly yellow. 

"What's that?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Nothing," the boy answered, his voice just as sharp, black eyes flashing as he yanked his sleeve back down again.

Hermione sighed. Bullying in school usually resulted in magical maladies that would naturally go to the infirmary because the children didn't yet know how to cover up that they'd been scrapping. Physical bruising was more concerning. Almost none of the children would fight with their fists, except sometimes the Muggle borns. She remembered her own single act of violence against Draco Malfoy in her third year, still with a small thrill of satisfaction. But that bruise was larger than a child's hand. Something was very wrong.

"I think we need to go and see your head of house," she said softly, holding out a hand to the boy that he looked very reluctant to go near.

Before she could insist, there was a crash and a whoop in the hallway outside. Hermione sighed, looking over her shoulder. Peeves had been suspiciously quiet the last week. Just her luck he'd raise his ugly head at such an inconvenient time. "Wait right here," she instructed the boy.

As quick as she could she left the classroom, closing the door behind her as though that would keep the boy in. He would stay, she was quite confident. She was a teacher and, even if he bolted, she knew which house he was in. He wouldn't be difficult to find.

The Peeves clamour turned out to be Mrs Norris trying to get into the flobberworms in the Potions store room, and knocking a large tin of powdered quartz onto something that had obviously been somewhat explosive! It was a mess and it was late, and Hermione knew that she was already tardy. She picked up Mrs Norris by the scruff and sent her on her way, then cast as many reparation spells as she could manage. The combustible, whatever it was, would be beyond repair. That would be a sour beginning to her evening with Snape. She hoped he would not insist on going and inspecting the scene of the crime himself, hunting for a way to apportion blame to someone he could actually punish. 

Hermione closed the door firmly, locking and warding it. How Mrs Norris had got in there was a mystery, but she had always thought there was something fishy about that cat.

She walked briskly back to the Potions classroom, with a sinking, inevitable feeling. When she got there, the door was ajar once more and the boy had gone. Hermione sighed and closed the door, turning her feet in the direction of the apartments of Severus Snape.

He held the tapestry aside for her to enter, hand rolled cigarette held between his lips. He was dressed in shirt and black trousers, hair damp and clean smelling. She noted also that he was freshly shaved and smiled a very small smile, hoping she wouldn't notice. It was nice he had made an effort for her, but she didn't want to make him defensive. It had already been a long night.

Snape warded the door and took the cigarette from his mouth, leaning in to kiss her, his hand sliding down the small of her back to cup her arse and pull her closer.

With regret, Hermione pulled away. "You're not going to like this," she said.

Snape sighed and handed her his cigarette. She spotted an ashtray on a pile of books - strangely, most of Snape's furniture seemed to be made from piles of books - and flicked away the excess ash. "Mrs Norris has destroyed something explosive in your store room. I cleaned up what I could, but I don't know what actually ignited. She's also eaten quite a few flobberworms."

"Wretched animal. I'll deal with it in the morning." He pulled her closer once again. His mouth was insistent and persuasive. It was tempting to melt into him, just enjoy the feel of his hardness pressing into her belly, the answering heat inside of her that responded so quickly to him. She enjoyed the firm stroke of his tongue and smooth of his hands a moment longer before pulling back for breath.

His eyes were so black. She kissed him once more. His fingers were plucking at her robes, her shirt.

"I need to ask you something," she said against his lips.

"Later," he muttered. Hermione smiled fondly. His hand was already snaking under her shirt, into her bra, lifting and squeezing the soft weight of her breast. She felt him roll his thumb over her nipple and shivered, tempted to follow his instruction.

"There was a boy crying in the Potions classroom," she said, kissing his forehead to soften her persistence. "A Slytherin boy. He had bruises all over his wrist, they looked too big to be from just scrapping."

Snape sighed. She felt the puff of his breath across her collarbone. He removed himself from her entirely and went instead to the liquor cabinet. Hermione frowned but adjusted her clothing. For a moment her attention was caught by the prominent bulge in his trousers and she felt a pang of mixed lust and regret. She hoped she was not putting him off entirely.

"He looked like a second or third year. Tall, gangly, shoulder length black hair and very dark eyes. He had..." She paused, watching Snape pour a large measure of whiskey and weighed her words carefully. "He had a very characterful nose." Snape snorted and she took that as a good sign, all things considered. "And a northern accent. He was crying, Severus, and those were just the bruises I saw. Do you know him?"

When he turned, Snape was scowling furiously. His eyes danced with fury instead of desire and he was gripping the whiskey bottle hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "What have you found out?"

Hermione blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Come on, you nosy little know it all. You obviously have something to get off your chest."

For a moment she could only stand with her mouth hung open, fear and anxiety, doubt and uncertainty twisting together in her belly as she tried desperately to think what she could have said to make him angry. "I don't know what you-"

"Don't take the piss," he spat. "I know only one lanky, oily haired, big nosed Slytherin. How many can you think of?"

She frowned, taking a tentative step towards him. "I'm just telling you what I saw. I thought you should know. You're the head of house."

He smiled unpleasantly, and emptied his glass in one go, quickly pouring another generous measure. "I see. And you saw this poor little boy bruised and crying. Better bring him to me, Granger."

"I ... When I went back after sorting out the potions store room ... I thought it was Peeves ... He'd gone."

"How convenient." Another measure disappeared down Snape's throat. Another was poured. Hermione suspected the motion of drinking was the only thing that kept him from hurling the bottle at her head. "There are no Slytherin boys matching that description. There are no students in the school at all of the description, to the best of my knowledge. And I write the timetables for the idle little shits, I know them all."

Hermione drew herself to her full height, though doubt had started to creep in long ago. "I know what I saw, Severus."

"Then you'd better go find your broken little boy so you can save him," he sneered. "Get out."

It was a wrench, but Hermione knew better than to try and reason with him when he had anger and alcohol on his side. She swallowed down her pride and turned back to the tapestry, ducking beneath it. Though muffled by the magic entrance and the thick stone walls, she paused outside his doorway and heard sounds of destruction inside. Hermione was a brave woman, but she sent up thanks to the tattered shreds of Snape's self control that he had not started throwing things in front of her. She would not have liked to try and restrain him.

"Better to let him rage it out," she told herself, ignoring her feelings of hurt and confusion.

She knew what she had seen. She had not imagined it. There was a boy who needed her help, and when she placed him in front of Snape she would see him bloody well apologise.


	5. Statement of Regret

Severus tried not to think about how long he had spent holding a glass of fire whiskey in one hand, staring into the amber liquid, watching the blue flames flicker and dance. He was thinking - that's what he would tell anyone who dared to ask, were there anyone else present.

But about what?

He was thinking about why he couldn't stand to give Hermione Granger the cold shoulder. It was the most standard item in his emotional manipulation arsenal, and yet he couldn't seem to hold firm behind it.

Part of the problem was that it didn't seem to be working. Snape had failed to factor into the equation how little time they actually spent together on a day to day basis. Ignoring a person was very difficult when there was no opportunity to exit their presence or fail to return their pleasantries. If his avoidance of her rooms after his nightly patrol had bothered her, she didn't show it. She didn't even seem to notice. She read her books over dinner, looked a little better rested for his not keeping her up late, and altogether seemed to be just fine without him.

The real kicker was that, if anyone suffered from his return to the normal routine, it was him. He lay awake at night staring at the canopy, fidgety and wide awake, his head spinning with all the things he was forced to keep to himself instead of finding a way to fit them into conversation with her. His body missed the exertion. His brain missed the endorphins.

He missed her. Though he would allow Potter to Crucio his balls before admitting it.

None of this answered his question, so he stared further into the glass. He drank it's contents then re-filled it, so he would still have something to stare at.

It was Friday. He could go to her room and pretend nothing had happened. He had just been busy, tired, unsociable. She could shrug off his absence and they could carry on as they always had.

Would she expect an apology?

She could expect all she wanted. She would be bloody glad and grateful that he did not demand one from her. She was the one that made fun of him, with her made up ghosts of the past. Who was she, to try and play upon the hideous memories of those years like they were a fiddle, like she could do anything to help any of the things Severus had experienced?

And what a hatable crime: to try to help another person.

Severus bared his teeth at the thought and downed another drink. She should mind her own fucking business. He did not need saving. She was in no position to be offering him any kind of help. They had both made it perfectly clear that they neither wanted nor sought for commitment of any kind.

He sighed and rested the glass on a heap of books, acting as a make shift coffee table. With a creak that he hoped was the chair and not his joints, he pulled himself to his feet. Perhaps she was sorry. Perhaps she wanted to make amends. He felt a twitch of desire at the possibilities. If only her pride would allow her to do so. 

Of course it wouldn't. Of course, he would be the one that must go to her, that must supply the opportunity.

Snape ran a hand through his hair and stopped at the looking glass to appraise himself quickly. It was already eight o'clock, she should just be returning from her meal. There was a full evening of delights to be had ahead of them. He took a handful of Floo powder from the jar on the mantel and threw it into the flames, turning them emerald green. Snape ducked as he stepped into the Inglenook. "Professor Granger's living room," he said, closing his eyes briefly as the fireplaces of Hogwarts started to rush past. He lifted a foot and stepped out at just the right moment.

At precisely the same moment, a small figure barrelled into him.

"Oh, shit!" She hissed from beneath a curtain of thick, curly hair.

Severus stepped away as Hermione leaned up on her toes, staring at her reflection in the large mirror over the fireplace and rubbing at a smear of black across her cheek. Her hazel eyes flicked to look at him in the mirror and she bared her teeth in a quick tense smile. "Severus, I wasn't expecting you."

"Apparently not," he drawled.

Were he not so put out, Severus would be forced to admit that Hermione was a vision. Not in a classical or beautiful way, but in a way that made him want to slam her against a wall and fuck her. But of course it wasn't for him - why should it be?

Hermione was in Muggle attire, as far as he could tell. She wore a white blouse that was nearly transparent and half unbuttoned, with only a black bra beneath. A scrap of denim clung to her hips, short enough that a full inch of flesh showed before the familiar black line of her stockings. No suspenders. He suspected a Sticking Charm had been used to keep them up. The bottom halves of her legs were encased in leather, boots with heels that added at least an extra two inches to her height. Severus was pleased to note he could still loom over her fitfully.

Her attention was still wholly focused on her reflection, evening out the thick black lines she was drawing over the roots of her eyelashes, which had also been enhanced in some way. Her lips were full and red. Her hair, he now noticed, looked wild in an attractive way. Less like she had been dragged through a bush and more like she had spent the last hour fucking and thoroughly enjoying it.

The over all effect was ... attention grabbing.

"You hadn't said anything, I assumed you weren't coming over tonight."

"I thought we had a standing arrangement," Snape said, gathering together all the pride and disdain he could muster. "I will request a slot in your diary in future."

Hermione looked up at him through the fringe of thick black lashes. He imagined her looking up at him that way as he penetrated her.

"Why don't you just come with me?"

Snape frowned. "Where are you going?"

"A club in London. Not sure which one, I just thought I'd get to Soho and see what takes my fancy. I'm not going with anyone, you wouldn't have to be sociable. I just wanted to get out for a bit."

Had she asked his opinion, Snape would have said that he didn't think her attire was suitable for roaming any streets with December just around the corner. He tried to picture himself walking the cobbled streets of Soho with this woman's arm through his, getting drunk in a warehouse-type room where the music was so loud it made his heart shake. He tried to imagine having any kind of fun in that scenario and failed miserably.

More disturbing, she was not going with friends, and could not precisely plot her whereabouts for the evening. His brown furrowed into its familiar frown. Young woman, drunk, probably high and dressed like that. His first reaction to her had been predatory and he was, despite appearances, a man with morals. At least a man with responsibilities, with a job to worry about keeping. There were men, he knew all too well, with nothing to lose.

"I think not," he said carefully. "You will be apparating?"

Hermione smiled and nodded.

"I'll escort you to the gate. If you're ready?"

She smiled up at him again, distracted. Doubtless thinking of the fun she would soon be having, away from the stuffy castle and her stuffy lover - if that's how she thought of him; if she thought of him at all. Her smile seemed genuine enough, as she shrugged a teaching robe on over her evening attire. The make up would still be notable, if a student saw her, but he knew from experience that students didn't tend to study their professors too hard. He had turned up to class hung over often enough, or bruised and aching from a night off Death Eater exertions. The joys of being a spy. They weren't very joyful at all.

They walked the corridors without incident. Students saw him coming and immediately ducked their heads, shuffling past with guilt emanating from them in waves whether they had done anything wrong or not.

The heavy doors clunked open with a push and they were greeted by frigid night air. Their breath puffed before them, and Snape was glad he would return to his rooms. If he could, he would be taking Granger with him.

"I'm sorry, by the way," she said, as though apologies cost nothing. "For making you angry the other week. I really didn't mean to. And I wasn't making it up. There was no ulterior motive."

"If you weren't making it up and there was no ulterior motive then why apologise?" He grumbled, annoyed that she had made apologising seem so easy, and that she had de-railed his planned conversation.

Hermione shrugged. "You were angry. I obviously touched a nerve, however unintentionally. I'll know in future to tread carefully around that kind of thing." She looked about to say more, then thought better of it.

They were half way to the school gates. It seemed a pity to risk making her angry when they had just made up, but Severus wasn't sure he could live with his conscience if he just let her go now because the chances of fucking her were open again. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

She stiffened but kept walking. "What do you mean?"

"Don't take offence when I say that you look good enough to molest. And I'm assuming wherever you go you'll be getting high, drunk at the least."

"Can I put this little bit of hypocrisy down to jealousy, or just plain double standards?" She asked, her pace picking up. The gates were inside and it was becoming glaringly obvious he was fighting a losing battle.

"Double standards. Not mine, I hasten to add. It's not my fault that when I get plastered all anyone sees is a sad bitter old man. When you get plastered they see an opportunity."

She turned sharply on her heel, so quickly that Snape bumped into her. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. That mixture of anger and recklessness really was much sexier than it should be. "Remember what I said about opportunities?"

He sighed as she pushed the gate open. "At least Floo me in the morning so I know you're safe," he called after her.

"Not my professor any more," she called over her shoulder. In another moment there was a whip crack and she was gone.

Hermione was not present at breakfast the next morning. Severus knew this because, despite drinking himself into a stupor that night, spending the early hours of the morning retching over the toilet bowl and a good half an hour trying to keep down an antiemetic, he was present during the whole of breakfast service for possibly the first time since joining the Hogwarts staff. He might not have actually eaten anything, but that was besides the point. He tolerated conversation from his colleagues when he was most definitely not in the mood, speculation from his students and some very impertinent looks. She did not appear, and the first twists of concern coiled in his gut.

Severus spent the rest of the morning resisting the temptation to open the fire whiskey again, and brewing more hangover remedies. 

At lunch he, again, sat at the teachers' table for a full hour and a half. Under the guise of needing to speak to her about the Potions study group, he asked Minerva if she had seen their newest staff member. She replied in the negative, and with an entirely inappropriate smile implied that Ms Granger may have had a bit of a wild night.

No sooner had Snape returned to his rooms than he was throwing Floo powder into the fireplace and making his way to Hermione's quarters. They were just as he had left them. Her bed had been neatly made and not slept in, a breakfast tray of congealed eggs and bacon sat on her bedside table. The elves, apparently, were also concerned.

"She's had a bloody good night and now she's feeling the effects, you old fool," he chastised himself as he returned to his own rooms. "Remember being young? Remember trying to persuade Narcissa to give you a handjob in a rose bush because you thought it was funny? Remember waking up with a bed full of pixie dust and Regulus refusing to tell you what happened? It's normal. Get a grip." Throughout his evening sweep of the halls he listed all the stupid things he had done when he was young, all of them embarrassing and regrettable but very few of them life threatening. Hermione was sensible. More than that, she was formidable, downright dangerous under the right circumstances. If there was trouble, she had her wand. She could take care of herself.

When she still didn't appear for breakfast the next morning, Severus decided he had had enough. Anger had caught up to worry, and he was pissed off that she would disappear without considering those around her. Desperate times called for desperate measures. He sprinkled a pinch of Floo powder into the flames and thrust his head into them. "Harry fucking Potter," he growled.

He half expected it not to work. As directions went, it was pretty piss poor. Apparently Potter was even famous to the Floo network. In a moment, he found himself looking into an office.

"Potter!" He yelled.

He hadn't grown, that much was obvious even from his relatively low vantage point. The small man stumbled into view dressed in grey auror robes. "Snape? What the ... What can I do for you?"

"Granger's address," he said, not wanting to spend any longer talking to the imbecile than was strictly necessary.

"Hermione? Why, is she ok?"

"Give me her address and I can find out."

He took a breath. "She's living at Hogwarts."

If his head weren't inside a fire Severus would have liked to rub his face in frustration. "Thank you, Potter, I had noticed. Her parents' house. Or whatever Muggle bolt hole she has."

Potter folded his arms. "How do you know she still has her parents' house?"

Snape sighed. "We all have a bolt hole. We lived through a war, we all have somewhere where no one will find us." He thought of Spinners End, his own hide away until the Dark Lord found out about it and ensconced Wormtail as his house guest. He had covertly arranged for a room in a house in Venice to be kept available for him after that, though he had never needed to use it. "Just give me the bloody address."

"42 Jerningham Road, New Cross Gate. It's not on the Floo network, though."

He rolled his eyes, extracting his head from the fireplace without saying goodbye. How that boy had saved them all from the most powerful wizard who ever lived was anyone's guess. It was terrifying he had even been accepted as an auror. He swept from the room, summoning a Muggle coat and hat as he went, shucking his teaching robes and trying to think of the closest I he could apparate.

Snape blinked into existence at the rear of New Cross Gate station. London commuters were so conveniently oblivious to everything. He placed the hat - a rather fine black trilby - on his head and pulled the rim low over his face before setting off towards Telegraph Hill. The roads were quiet and he crossed easily enough. He had been living out of the Muggle world so long that the rush of cars made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. They were such strange, smelly vehicles. Noisy, too. Across the road and up the hill, lined with the odd horse chestnut tree and terraced three-storey houses. He raised his eyebrows as he counted off the house numbers, thinking of the poky little hovel in which he had grown up. 

At last he came to number 42 and took the steps to the front door two at a time, rapping on it smartly. A window in the basement was open, he noticed. There was no answer. He gave her a minute before pulling out his wand. A whispered Aloe Hamora snicked the deadbolt and Yale locks back, leaving the door to swing open. He cast a glance up and down the street, before going in wand first.

The house's interior was dark and smelled of damp. He kicked the door closed behind him. "Hermione? It's Severus. Where are you?"

He stalked through a living room, a kitchen. Neither showed signs of life. He was starting to feel foolish and suspect he may have broken into a colleague's house without good cause, when he heard something distinctly human. 

A sniffle came from a door in the kitchen, pushed to. He hooked his boot in the door, pulling it open. "Hermione?" He called.

"Fuck off!"

It was definitely her. The voice was thick and heavy and miserable, but unmistakably her. He let out a long breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding. "Not dead. That's something," he muttered under his breath, stowing his wand back in his sleeve. "I'm coming down, ready or not," he called.

Bare floorboards creaked with every step as he descended into gloom. It wasn't unlike his dungeons, he supposed, this subterranean part of the house. Dim light came in through high, small windows that looked out onto street level outside. As his eyes adjusted, he made out a bed and a lot of books, some food wrappers and a little hunched figure in the corner of the bed. The hunched figure moved, wild hair spilling aside and parting to show a pink face. "I said fuck off," she said petulantly. Her eyes and nose were red, cheeks wet, and she seemed to be wrapped in some kind of shapeless wool garment.

"And I said to Floo me yesterday morning so I would know you're alright. Apparently we don't listen to basic instructions any more." He stood before her. Now that he was there he wasn't sure quite what to do. He had ascertained she was at least physically sound, yet leaving didn't feel quite right. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said miserably, beginning to cry again, "I'm absolutely fine."

She hunched in on herself and shook, the only sound coming from her being an occasional sniff. Severus scrubbed his face with one hand, resting the other on her shoulder. "There, there," he said, feeling useless. "Do you want Potter? He's probably better at this than me."

Hermione let out a mirthless laugh. "No. He fusses."

"Can you tell me why you're crying?"

"Do you care?"

He scowled. "Don't be self indulgent. If I didn't care I wouldn't be here."

"I'm a fuck up and everyone thinks I'm wonderful," she said miserably. "I ended up back here with some bloke, who I had to get rid of, and I just thought ... Fuck, this is what passes for fun. Spend years fighting for your life, for loads of lives, and live to see it through, and this is the reward."

Severus crouched down and started pushing hair back from her face, pulling out a cleanish handkerchief to work on trying to dry her out. "It could be worse. I'm a fuck up and everyone thinks I'm a prick."

She grinned. It wasn't especially attractive, with the snot and the bad breath, but it was a start. "You are a prick," she mumbled.

Just the once, Severus let it slide. "You need a shower and a decent meal. Clean up and we'll go back to Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded, wiping her face on what was apparently a Weasley Christmas jumper. "Thank you."

He nodded. As she slumped towards the steps he couldn't help asking, "was he any good at least? The bloke you picked up?"

She shrugged. "I can't even remember. I think that might be the saddest thing of all." Half way up the stairs she called out, "Don't worry. You're still the best shag of the year."

It shouldn't have filled Severus with pride. But it did.


	6. Question of Principle

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror. Her face held no expression. Her hair was as tame as she could be bothered to make it. The majority of it was pulled back into a plait, with curling tendrils framing her face. Pretty, she supposed. In the right light and if you ignored the rest of her. Dark circles marred her eyes, which were looking a bit red and watery. The result of too much speed, too much crying and not enough sleep. There was probably something she could do about it, a glamour or a potion, but really what was the point? When she relaxed her face two deep lines joined the sides of her nose to the corners of her mouth. There were crows feet around her eyes, as well. Twenty-four and already wrinkled, not to mention the odd grey hair she'd seen catching the light, immediately pulled out and incinerated on sight. She sighed. It wasn't as if she cared -- but if she had, it might have bothered her that, facially at least, her body was aging already. Maybe she'd put it through too much.

Her lips quirked in a small smile as eyes travelled over the rest of her body. There, at least, things seemed to be improving on the way they'd been as a teenager. Her boobs had grown since coming to Hogwarts, though her waist was still narrow. It had never really bothered her, being a flat-chested teenager. It wasn't really a priority at the time. And, were she still flat-chested, she probably wouldn't have minded, but having a hand-full on either side did give an extra boost to her body confidence. The blouse and pencil skirt she usually picked out to wear flattered her nicely. It was just a shame to cover them up with teaching robes. 

That day was due to be her first week sitting in on Potions revision with Snape. With a naughty smile, she slid her wand tip along the modest slit in her skirt, raising it a bit. She knew how he enjoyed her stockings. It might be nice to give him something to make him smile while they were dealing with rudimentary potions queries.

She thought of the other bloke, the one she'd picked up from the club. He liked her stockings too. Disturbingly, he had reminded her a lot of Draco Malfoy. Not just was he blonde and angular, he had that insufferable arrogance about him. This was apparently what now turned her on: hateable men. He'd been cocky in a way she didn't usually find attractive, but something about the way he did it worked. He'd smirked when she slid off her clothing for him, buzzing and fidgety from the drugs, off-balanced by the alcohol. She'd grinned and enjoyed it when he'd held her against the wall. Then he'd fucked her harder than was strictly comfortable and made no effort to get her off. Sometimes Hermione felt guilty chucking out a one night stand, but she'd had no problem with that one. Cheeky bastard had even asked for her number. No thank you, she'd thought. Not when I have a man with twice the skill and just as much sex appeal at home.

Did she 'have' Snape? Prior to the weekend she would have said not. Even without his little temper tantrum at the slightest misunderstanding, Snape remained distant, casual. His visits might be more frequent and involve some talking in between the panting and groping, but there was no commitment on either side. Which suited her just fine.

Yet he'd checked up on her. Gone out of his way to find her, even speaking to someone he didn't like very much (Harry had Flooed her that evening to ask what had been going on). 

Hermione shook her head. Enough reflection, she'd have her wrist slapped if she didn't make an appearance at breakfast. She pulled the thick teaching robes over the top of her regular clothes and slid her feet into a pair of modest heels. 

It was interesting, she mused as she followed the student throng from Gryffindor Tower down to the Great Hall, that she dressed and looked no differently than when she first came to the school. Yet knowing there was someone around who took an interest put an extra spring in her step. Unless she was cold, she left her teaching robes unfastened, allowing glimpses at least of the more flattering outfit beneath. And she knew, though she would never admit it, that she swung her hips more as she walked away from the staff table at meals, half-hoping he was watching. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to impress him. It was just nice to know that someone was noticing.

The little twinge of disappointment when she couldn't see him at the breakfast table was new and unwelcome. Proof that she had been looking forward to and hoping to see him. Missing your boyfriend, a snide little voice that sounded suspiciously like Ron asked at the back of her mind. She pushed it brusquely aside and moved to sit next to Professor Vector. "No Severus this morning?" she asked breezily, after exchanging greetings.

The other woman raised her eyebrows. "Been and gone, dear. Anything the matter?" 

Hermione shook her head, buttering a slice of toast and hunting for the Marmite. "No, just some questions about the study hall tonight. I'll catch him at lunch I expect."

Vector shrugged and they fell into conversation about Hermione's research and the Stone Henge field trip, which McGonagall had approved for the Spring. Had Hermione known what a mine field a potential field trip would be -- between transport arrangements, consent forms and adequate supervision -- she might not have pushed so hard for it.

Her morning held two classes before lunch: the sixth year NEWT class and fourth year Ravenclaw-Hufflepuffs. She enjoyed the NEWT classes. The students were, for the most part, dedicated to the subject and came up with interesting ideas as well as needing guidance in the field. The fourth years ... were more of a challenge to her patience. It was understandable, given that students who signed up to take Ancient Runes for their OWLs hadn't experienced the subject at first or second year so didn't really know what it would involve. As Severus might put it, there was very little foolish wand waving. A lot of it was logic and academic application, utilising lingual skills and deduction as much as magic. Not very exciting to those with a short attention span. The number of students who had zero aptitude or clearly didn't want to try was an astonishing majority, and they tended to drag the rest of the class down. Even before getting closer to him, Hermione had begun to have more sympathy for Snape's manner towards his students. She considered herself a proficient in her subject, but Snape was a Master of his. It must be plain boring to brew the same basic potions day after day and still have students fuck it up. She wondered what else he did to keep his mind ticking over. His rooms were full of books and papers. Perhaps he had his own research projects. With a stab of shame, she realised she had never thought to ask.

Lunch time came and as she enterred the Great Hall she saw Severus picking at a steak and kidney pie at the Slytherin end of the table. She edged around the tables and walked down the end of the hall. As she neared the end of the teachers' table she heard a loud wolf whistle. Her eyes flicked upwards. Severus was glaring daggers at the Slytherins but apparently not inclined to act. Hermione had always taken the opinion that ignoring such juvenile behaviour was the way forward. Ignore them and they'll go away. It was a reaction they wanted, the knowledge that they had intimidated and dominated. She resisted the temptation to turn around and seek out her harrasser, instead carrying on towards her destination with the same even steps. Snape looked at her and frowned, she shrugged in response.

"Bagley, ten points from Slytherin for disrespecting a teacher, ten points for sexual harrassment, and a further ten for making me deduct points from my own house." His voice was quiet but carrying and Hermione found it more embarrassing, if anything, to be the cause of this weighty deduction. She might have been half-tempted to look over her shoulder and apologise to whoever Bagley might be, if it weren't for the unspoken rule of teacher solidarity. 

Hermione stood at the end of the table waiting for Severus's attention. He glared at the Slytherins for a moment, clearly waiting for them to go back to their food before opening any kind of conversation with her.

"Thank you for the chivalry but it's not necessary," she said under her breath.

Snape smirked. "That wasn't chivalry," he raised his voice so the eavesdropping Slytherins would easily hear what he had to say, "That was teaching common courtesy to the impudent."

She bit her lower lip hard to forestall the smile that was threatening. Disciplining young minds was a serious business. She didn't want to undermine her deputy head's authority by smirking. "We have study hall this evening. I just wanted to know your plans."

Severus put down his fork and looked at her for the first time. She had her hand on one hip, the robes pushed behind to show what she wore beneath. The lazy drag of his eyes up her body surely wasn't subtle, but it made her ears burn and her stomach flutter. When he looked at her, Snape's face was entirely impassive, bored even. Reading him, though, was a fine art. She noted the very slight curve to his mouth, suggesting he too was fighting a smile, and the open body language. It would be inviting, were there not a room full of teenagers to consider. He turned in his chair to speak to her and looked her in the eye.

"Seven until nine," he was saying, "an hour's revision and then an hour mock exam. Theory, obviously, not practical. Then send them back to bed in time for curfew."

Hermione nodded once. "If I come down at about quarter to?"

"That would be charming," he said with a sneer. He turned back to his food and Hermione was dismissed. With a huff of irritation she hoped the Slytherins would hear, she moved behind his chair and made her way further up the table. 

The next free spot was two seats up and Hermione sat and helped herself to a generous portion of pork and green beans. As she started to eat, she noticed one of the salt sellers a little further down the table was twitching. No, not twitching. Moving and then stopping. Moving and stopping. As though it had little legs and was trying to sneak up on someone. She looked to either side, but everyone else was eating. No one else seemed to have noticed the peculiar little condemont pot.

It stopped in front of her and let out a not very subtle, "Psst!"

Hermione felt a little bit like Alice in the Wonderland as she leaned forwards to pick it up. She thought of biscuits saying 'eat me' and potions saying 'drink me' and made a mental note to check whether Lewis Carroll had any magical background. Sometimes the Wonderland was a little too close to Hogwarts. Or vice versa. 

Pomona Sprout, to her right, was deep in conversation with Madam Hooch, and the seat to her left was vacant. There was no one to look over her shoulder as she picked up the salt seller. It was perfectly ordinary -- no legs or wheels or anything -- but stuck to the bottom she felt a scrap of parchment.

"Someone's passing notes again. Tsk, tsk," she said under her breath, smiling.

"Don't know if you had noticed, but you appear to have ripped your skirt. Please repair before study hall, students do not need further distractions."

Hermione smirked. She rummaged in her robes pockets for the biro she always carried with her -- quills were pretty but not exactly portable. She scribbled a response: "Thanks for concern but skirt is not ripped. Can remove if it's causing issue?" She folded the note into neat squares and turned back to her food. Once she had finished she left the way she had arrived, pausing to bend down behind Professor Snape's chair. Straightening she said, "Excuse me, Professor. I think you dropped this." She handed him the folded parchment and carried on without looking back, hands buried in her pockets.

At the doors to the hall, she looked back at the teachers' table. Snape's eyes were in his lap, apparently looking at her note. One eyebrow was raised. As she watched, he looked up at her. He shook his head just slightly and Hermione grinned, before returning to the third floor.

The afternoon vanished in an flurry of research. She had received correspondance from Salem about further material ripe for translation, and the larger her sample the easier and more accurate her work on both pieces would be. It would then be just a case of establishing a firm link between the two periods, the two wizards, and creating a story around the translation that people would find interesting. She blew out a long breath. Simple really.

Hermione checked her watch and groaned. Half past six. There went the prospect of dinner, she'd be lucky to clear away and get down to the hall on time. She waved her wand at the quills working independently and the translation charms hovering over her books. They dropped and vanished accordingly. She sent the books that were the school's back to the shelves, and the ones that were hers behind Madam Pince's desk. She was storing her research texts in the library to keep her from working into the early hours of the morning, as she knew she would if they were in her room. It had been one of Harry's 'instilling routine' suggestions. She had been living with him at Grimauld Place when she was working on Beedle the Bard and he knew what she could be like. One book was left behind on the table and she tucked it under her arm. Invigilating exams was a boring business and some light reading would keep keep her from pestering Severus or staring into space like a guppy.

She made it to the hall by ten to seven, to find Snape with arms crossed looking grim and imposing. "Take points off me for tardiness and I'll take points in return for passing notes," she said breezily, making the most of the few moments of privacy before students started arriving.

"I'll assume you've taken the time to change," Snape grumbled.

Hermione shot him a brilliant smile. "I haven't actually, so try to keep your eyes to yourself, Professor."

Any reply he might have made was curtailed by the first group of students slouching into the hall. They were Ravenclaws, so naturally eager to learn, but even they didn't look too thrilled at the idea of two hours of supervised Potions revision. Snape had cleared three of the tables to the side, leaving one in the middle. "In and sit, quickly." Snape moved towards a black board he had erected at the front of them room, Hermione moved towards the doors to usher students in, and for the next hour the two teachers barely looked at one another.

Snape ran through revision notes for twenty minutes, then prowled the tables answering individual questions during quiet study. Hermione moved up the other side of the table, mostly checking everyone was actually reading a potions book and no one had smuggled in any comics or dirty magazines. A few of the Gryffindors and students from her own classes asked a few questions. It hadn't been that long since Hermione took her own Potions NEWT and she answered as accurately as she could, but was forced to pass a question on to Snape on more than one occasion. One thing she noticed was that, though the students sat according to house affiliation, they all whispered together happily enough and helped each other out. Was it the end of the war, or was it just because these were NEWT students that the inter-house animosity seemed to be toned down? Even Snape, who had seemed the most biased person in the world when she was a teenager, gave equal attention to every student -- at least, every student who had a sensible question. 

At eight o'clock sharp, she levitated a stack of mock exam papers and distributed them among the students, while Snape stood at the front of the hall giving the standard pre-exam speech. One hour to complete, no talking, anti-cheating charms in place, answer even if you're not certain, read the bloody questions. Hermione sat at the front of the room beside the blackboard and crossed her legs, taking out her book as Snape took out a pocket watch. "Begin," he announced in that sonorous voice.

She looked up as he moved to join her. There was the initial scuffle and flurry of pages turning, then a pregnant pause before the quill-scratching began. All the students seemed engrossed, as she herself had been for each and every mock. Snape twitched the knees of his trousers as he sat. He took out his wand and muttered something unintelligible.

Hermione leaned in a bit closer and whispered, "I hate to tell you this, but I think I've forgotten half of what I learned for my NEWT."

"No need to whisper," he said, dark eyes surveying the students' bent heads. "They won't hear anything."

She smiled. "I did wonder how teachers could bare to sit in silence for hours with nothing to do."

"It's not normally something I find difficult." She smiled, then realised the students might not be able to hear her but they could still see her. She schooled her face into an expression of polite interest. "But as your company is marginally more tolerable than the majority of my colleagues, I thought it might be preferable to talk. If we want to."

Hermione nodded. "They can't hear us at all?"

"Whispers, I suppose. If they were focusing on us. Which they shouldn't be. They won't be able to make anything out."

"Excellent," Hermione said. They shared a few moments of companionable silence, the one reading her book, the other working through a stack of second year homework assignments. More than once his quill squeaked as he swiped viciously across the page and Hermione hoped, for the students' sake, that whatever charm he cast covered incidental noise as well as talking. At length Hermione asked, "Is it difficult, learning Legilimency?" She was careful to keep her eyes on her book, though she was no longer reading.

Snape sneered down at his scrolls. "Simplicity itself. That's why everyone can do it."

Hermione rolled her eyes, before remembering they were sat in front of a room of students and she should make an effort to maintain her teacher face. "I'll re-phrase my question, shall I? Do you think I'd be a suitable candidate to learn legilimency?"

"More suitable than Potter," Snape mumbled. After a moment's consideration he said, "This being a leading sort of question, I'm going to surmise you're asking if I would teach you." She nodded, just a slight inclination of her head, her gaze studiously lowered to her book for the sake of the students. "You're bright and you have the ability. There's no magical reason you couldn't learn. The Gryffindor stubbornness might be an issue -- it takes a certain amount of malleability and manipulation which you probably wouldn't like. I'd say you're capable of learning. The question is whether I would want to teach you."

She was trying quite hard not to preen at his compliments, brusque and matter of fact as they had been. It had been six years since she had been in Snape's classroom and she couldn't remember him ever verbally praising her abilities before. "Is there any reason you wouldn't? Is it because ... You know." The students couldn't hear her but Hermione wasn't about to ask if she would be unsuitable as his pupil because they had been fucking. You never knew who could lip read by whatever means in a school like Hogwarts.

A smirk was all the response to that question. "Your interest is in Legilimency and not Occlumency? I'm assuming you're aware of the distinction."

Hermione nodded. "Occlumency being the mental block, Legilimency being the-"

"Penetration?" Snape supplied smoothly.

For a few moments Hermione was lost to a coughing fit. Concerned, irritated and distracted students looked up at the two teachers. Snape seemed engrossed in their own work. Hermione's face was red as she coughed into her hand, eyes wide. On realising the charm had not silenced involuntary noise she raised a hand of apology and waited some minutes before resuming the conversation. "Yes," she hissed at last, "I know the difference."

There was an amused curl to Snape's lips that was almost smug. "Are you aware Legilimency is a Dark Arts discipline?"

She huffed a breath, leaning back in her seat and tilting her head to one side. "Yes, I suppose it is. But I think you know that's not what I want it for."

"And what do you want it for, Miss Granger?" It had occurred to her that at some point she really should have words with him about the honorific. She might only teach a few classes but she was still technically a teacher and should be addressed as 'Professor'. The problem was that she had a sneaking suspicion she would always be 'Miss Granger', to Snape. And there was a part of her that rather liked that.

"I thought it might make things more fun," she said breezily, "if I could give back a bit when we're ... You know."

"Penetrating?" He supplied once more. Hermione was ready for it this time and rolled her eyes in response. "Would you consider a quid pro quo arrangement?" 

"Depends," she replied. "What's the pro quo?"

Snape stood and arched his back in a subtle stretch. God forbid the students recognise that Snape was getting older, or even human. He turned his back on the hall, apparently also aware of the possible dangers of having an audience. "Let me help with your other problem."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I don't have any problems," she said, knowing that was entirely untrue and wondering which one, specifically, he was suggesting he could fix.

"This isn't exactly the place to discuss it, but I'd like to work on your..." He smiled faintly while searching for the right words. "Your climactic potential."

She let out a long sigh in response. He was flogging a dead horse and she could really do without the added pressure on their non-relationship. "We'll talk about it later. Mine or yours?"

"The dungeons are closer."

He turned without another word. That was that, then. Snape stalked along the table, looking over his charges' shoulders and generally causing unease amongst the student body. Hermione shook her head, casting a finite incantatum and returning to her book.

Shortly afterwards, time was called on the mock exam. There was a group exhalation as students downed quills and stretched sore necks and wrists. Hermione collected papers to give herself something to do, an excuse for her prolonged presence as Snape dismissed the students and answered questions from stragglers. There was a Ravenclaw seventh year who was particularly persistent. She was showing Snape an example from the textbook, leaning her body into his so they could both read the book the right way up. Hermione smiled to herself as she watched the girl look up at Snape from under long dfark eyelashes as he explained some point or other, completely oblivious. Severus Snape, the thinking woman's totty. Well, impressionable teenaged girls could choose worse figures for their schoolgirl fantasies. At least Snape had a perverse sense of honour (better than no honour at all) on top of being clever and dry. A good job she had been too busy with horcruxes, certain death and unresolved sexual tension with her best friend at that age. It had taken her to adulthood before she had figured out that some of his snide comments could be quite funny; that cleverness was a much sexier quality than familiarity. 

Averting her eyes so the Ravenclaw wouldn't see her smile, Hermione charmed the house tables, putting the hall back to rights for breakfast the next morning. 

At last the Ravenclaw was sent on her way, with a promise to discuss the matter further during class time. The onset of curfew was on their side. Even so, the pair waited a few minutes after the last student had left the hall before making their own way down to the dungeons.

"Do you often cast charms on your students without their knowledge?" Hermione asked while they waited, a wry twist to her mouth.

"Not usually with witnesses," Snape replied. He looked down at her, his eyes holding the intensity that usually came with privacy and a couple of fingers of whiskey. "Am I going to have to buy your silence?"

"Bloody Slytherins," Hermione said casually. "My interest was academic. I wasn't about to extort you."

"I'd like to see you try, Granger." When his voice took on that silky baritone, Hermione couldn't help but remember the filthier words he groaned as he approached orgasm. Despite herself, she felt a very physical reaction to the thought and carefully avoided eye contact. Snape was getting good enough at winding her up, she wasn't about to add fuel to his arsenal.

After a few minutes had pass they walked down to the dungeons with a respectable distance between them, keeping chatter to the minimum and the boring. Filch's cat was scratching plaintively at the Potions storeroom door. Snape hissed at her and she ran. Otherwise, the halls were empty.

Snape motioned for Hermione to proceed him under the tapestry, which she did. Once beyond the hidden door with it locked behind them, Severus pulled her closer and ran a hand over her hair. She smiled and slid her arms around his waist, leaning up on her toes to receive the kiss she knew was coming.

It was the first time they had been intimate since Snape had ceremoniously thrown her from his rooms. Hermione sighed against his lips, smiling. There was something comforting about his kisses. Something warm and natural and almost wholesome about them. As they parted she put on her most apologetic face. "I don't want to throw a bucket of cold water on things but-"

"We both have classes in the morning," he finished for her. "I know. I just wanted to show my appreciation for the eyeful I've been getting today." One hand dropped, his fingers ghosting up the slit in her skirt, tickling over the bare skin just above her stocking top.

Hermione pulled him closer, humming with approval when she felt his half mast erection dig into her tummy. "Appreciation noted. I'm glad you like it."

"And now you know I like it, you will be changing it back."

She extricated herself from him and turned away to move into the room properly. It occurred to her that she had never got much further than the door mat on her previous visit. There were two arm chairs by the fire, which was burning low, and she took the nearest. She waited for Snape to stroll into view before asking, "Is that a request from my deputy head or my fuck buddy?"

Snape wrinkled his nose. "'Fuck buddy', what a hideous phrase." He didn't, however, offer an alternative. Instead he went to the drinks cabinet and took out his tumbler. Hermione scowled but he took no notice, pouring a generous measure of Old Ogden's and returning to the fireplace. "I'm asking as both. Your deputy head has a difficult enough time keeping three hundred teenaged boys' hormones in check. Your ... The rest of me has enough trouble keeping my own hormones in check."

She had been about to argue the point that sexual harassment was caused by ignorance not attire, but the compliment mollified her. With a prim little sigh she crossed her legs, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement. "The skirt is knee length, the slit is mid thigh. I've not deviated from the staff code of conduct. If the adolescents - or anyone else - takes issue with my clothing the fault is with them, not me."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you flash your stockings at me in public again, my retaliation will be similarly public."

As challenges went it was tempting - at least, to the reckless part of her that seemed to be so frequently in control these days. She tried to think what he could possibly do that at least a small part of her wouldn't enjoy. Still, he had moved the discussion from a debate over school policy to a personal ultimatum, and it wasn't like Snape to do that for no reason. At the end of the day, it wasn't really worth an argument with her deputy head, though she doubted Snape was really making the request in his official capacity. It was difficult to see him as her boss when moments ago his tongue had been in her mouth and his cock had been hard against her belly. Presumably this was why office romances were never a good idea. Not that romance had anything to do with it.

"Don't worry, I'll be dressed like a nun in the morning. Now then, my 'climactic potential'?"

Snape dropped into the opposite arm chair. The springs made a quick, loud crunch of protest. He settled himself and placed his glass on a pile of books. "I can see your head working when we're fucking. You'll be halfway there and something shuts down. It's not my abilities, it's not your body, it's something that's in your head holding you back. Let me have a prod around and see if I can fix it."

Hermione crossed her arms. She knew she was putting up a physical barrier. And so what? For a long time reaching orgasm with anyone else present had been bloody difficult. With Ron she had always had to finish herself off, and he used to make such a big deal about it she just gave up in the end and faked half of them. If it hadn't been for the fact that Viktor never had a problem getting her off, she might have worried it wasn't going to happen at all. Luckily things had proved much easier once she stopped trying to fuck Weasleys. One orgasm was perfectly sufficient and a significant improvement. The last thing she wanted was more fuss and the possibility of losing her faith with Snape, finding herself in the same position all over again. "I'm not a car. You can't just open up the hood and tinker with me until I work the way you want."

He snorted at the analogy. "And why not?"

"Well. I'm a person, for one thing. It's not like I'm operated by flicking switches."

He hummed, looking pensive. "I think here our opinions differ. A person is operated by switches, as you put it, but they're complex and numerous."

"And how do you propose to flick my switch, Professor Snape?" She asked. Because humour deflects everything.

"I have a number of possibilities. Some of them would depend on you, on how you respond to the Legilimency. I'll need to know a bit about your history."

She rolled her eyes. "You've turned therapist now?"

He sighed in irritation. "Enough. You're resistant and you're getting defensive. In principle, are you amenable to the idea of having multiple orgasms?"

"Well obviously, but-"

"And if I can work towards this without making you feel pressured, with an understanding that I very much enjoy fucking you one way or the other, would that be acceptable?"

"I..." She began. He had flummoxed her a bit with more compliments. Though the way Snape said them they didn't sound like compliments. More like statements of fact. Somehow, this made them all the more flattering. "No pressure?"

"Why would I pressure? I can come three times in one evening quite easily, I'm happy as a Gryffindor on a suicide mission."

Hermione was getting to the point where she just phased the barbs from his conversation. Otherwise she feared she would get a headache from all the eye rolling. "In theory, yes. But-"

"Excellent," Snape said, in what Hermione considered to be a quite Dumbledorian way. "Now, Miss Granger, if you could spare me ten more minutes before retiring for the evening, I would very much appreciate it if you would come here and let me admire that skirt before it's banished for good."

She smiled and was gratified that he smiled in return. Playful Snape. Humorous Snape. Flirtatious Snape. Somewhere out there was a whole sty full of flying pigs. She stood and closed the small space between them. Severus took her hand and pulled her in closer. She settled on his lap, straddling his thighs, her skirt riding up until the slit ran almost to her hip. He half-hummed, half-groaned his appreciation as one hand skimmed over her thigh, his thumb slipping under the suspender. His other hand cupped her bottom and pulled her against the hardness that had not abated during their conversation.

Leaning in, Hermione stroked her nose against his, her lips just out of reach. "Do you want me to do something about that?" Her hand ghosted over the bulge in his trousers.

He let out a deep rumbling sound of pleasure as his hips jutted up against hers. "Thank you, but I'd want to reciprocate." His teeth found her neck, nipping gently and making her pant. "I'll wait until we have more time."

Hermione grinned and kissed his lips firmly, enjoying the way his hands glided over her thighs and bottom. "Two chivalrous acts in one day. The white knight is a sexy look on you, Professor Snape."

He slipped his finger beneath her suspender again and drew it up, snapping it back against her skin. Hermione made a little yelp and burrowed closer to him, wishing she could look like a competent educator on less than eight hours' sleep. His teasing was starting to have the sort of effect that would need dealing with. "Behave," he rumbled, "I don't like to be laughed at."

She sat back, shaking her head slightly. It would be nice, one day, to laugh with him without either of them getting defensive. "I should go."

Severus sat back, his hands growing lax on her thighs. She smiled and slipped her hand between them to give his cock a squeeze as a parting gift. He growled against her lips as she kissed him goodbye. As she stood, he picked up his whiskey and it occurred to her that he had waited for her to leave before starting in on the drink. The thought made her feel warm and prickly. It was a good feeling, sort of, but one that threatened responsibility and guilt and repercussions.

Pushing the implications aside, she reached into Snape's pot of Floo powder and returned to her rooms.


	7. Exchange of Services

December was half way done and exam week had begun. You might have thought conscientious students would be hard at their studies, last-minute cramming and beating down Severus Snape's door for clarification to a dozen questions. Such a thought would, of course, be entirely inaccurate. 

What were December exams with the prospect of a Yule Ball on the horizon? He only thanked God that Flitwick had stepped up to the mark on the organisation duties. Taking on Hogsmeade and field trips in exchange had been a welcome relief. If Minerva had still been his fellow deputy, he wouldn't have put it past her not to insist he orchestrate the asinine event out of spite. It was bad enough he would have to attend. All teachers were expected to take on chaperone duties, plus the 'traditional' dances of prefects with heads of house. Though, considering the formidable history of Hogwarts, he hardly thought a few years counted as tradition. The Yule Ball had only been revived in the years since the war's end, and that first year Pomona had got tipsy and initiated the whole thing. Of course, he had been the last to grudgingly take Miss Weasley's hand, quietly impressed that she would even dare to ask him, and silently took her through a rigid waltz. If the war had finished a year earlier, it might have been Hermione. Not that it would have made a blind bit of difference. A student was a student, and she had changed remarkably in the intervening years. 

Wednesday saw the last Potions exam, an NEWT mid-term in poisons and antidotes. The rota for supervising study hall extended to exam invigilation, but Severus had not cast the charm allowing them to talk. He prided himself on the Outstanding results his classes received at NEWT level and was not about to provide any form of distraction during an exam that accounted for fifteen per cent of the overall grade.

Granger walked quietly up and down between the tables, looking over shoulders unobtrusively but with mild interest. Severus sat at the front of the room, watching her through narrowed eyes. He tried to remember when she herself had sat her NEWTs. It had been a strange year. The failers from the prior academic term had been allowed to come back to take classes and re-sit exams as they saw fit. Some classes nearly doubled in size that year, but she and Potter had been his only returning Potions students. She carried him through to a passing mark, somehow, while herself achieving as impressively as she always had. 

He remembered the way she leant over her exam paper, head tilted to one side, the hair scooped from her neck and fingers of her left hand dancing idly over her skin as she wrote. He had spotted her in the same pose in the library since she had returned, triggering the memory. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. He wondered if she knew how tempting it was to replace her fingers with his lips. Severus tried to tell himself he had never had such thoughts when she was still a student. Though he was only human, subject to all man's frailties and desires. Very occasionally, a stray and unbidden thought would pass through his head about an older student, quickly banished with horror and disgust. Such were the workings of the human subconscious. It was natural, didn't mean a thing. But he was almost sure he had never thought about her that way while she was under her tutelage. It was just perturbing, the moments when he remembered her as a student considering their current relationship.

At that moment she looked up and caught him watching her. Damn. He sneered, refusing to look away. Snape half expected her to roll her eyes, as that seemed to have become the stock Hermione response. Instead she put out her tongue. Just a momentary flash of pink, but he knew he had not imagined it. Minx. For all he agreed with her boundaries of their intimacy remaining casual, the gulf between the way he behaved around her in private and in public was growing. It was becoming more difficult not to slip into the easy manner with which he talked to her when they were alone during school time, or to carry over minor physical intimacies. Only that morning he had moved to pull a leaf from her hair after she had been walking in the grounds, stopped only by the scuffle and clamour of a fight breaking out in the Great Hall. Apparently, she was having the same problem, whether she had identified it or not. Two months ago, she would never have dared to poke fun at him at all, let alone in front of a room of people. This way could only lead to ruin, but at least the whole thing would be fun while it lasted. 

"Quills down," he intoned, enjoying the sight of her blushing and suppressing a smile. She turned on her heel and walked to the back of the room ready to collect papers. Snape spent a moment watching her hips sway. They had set a date that evening to begin her Legilimency lessons. Privately Snape was counting the hours.

*

At half past nine he rapped smartly on her mirror. He had come to her sobre, as he tried to if he could manage it, if the day hadn't been too god awful. Besides which, he didn't teach drunk. Especially not subjects that required full mental capacity. "Professor Granger," he intoned as she opened the door.

"Professor Snape," she replied, stepping aside to let him in. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

"I think we'll get on. Sit."

Hermione smiled but looked nervous as she sat on her couch, curling her legs underneath her. "No pensive?" she asked as he seated himself at the other end of the sofa.

He had been tempted. It was disconcerting to think of another poking around in his brain -- had been uncomfortable whenever Albus or Voldemort had done just that. Still, he had held a concrete reason for wanting to physically remove memories from Potter's inept grasp. It was more than just a preservation of privacy. Potter could no more keep a secret than he could domesticate a skrewt, and his mind had held a lot of motives that needed to be kept as secret as possible. The boy's presence naturally incited thoughts of Lily, and to have him discover them would have been impossibly dangerous at a time when the Dark Lord was regularly taking up residence in his head. 

There was no such necessity with Hermione and, assuming she actually managed to crack him in this session, he would easily be able to Occlude anything completely private or unpleasant.

"No pensive," he agreed, "but I would ask you to respect that I am voluntarily offering myself up as a practice subject, and that you treat my mind respectfully."

"You're assuming I actually manage to break in."

"Breaking in isn't the hard part," he conceded. "It's controlling yourself when you're there. In a moment I'll ask you to perform the incantation and we'll see how you manage. Intent is important, and focus. Keep eye contact and concentrate on me completely."

"What about you?" she asked looking puzzled. "I mean, in what way should I concentrate on you?"

He huffed. "Try to keep an open mind. Meaning don't go in with pre-conceptions about what might be in there -- what I'm thinking at the moment or what my memories are. I've always found it easiest to focus very closely on the eyes and empty my mind. It's like a trance state."

She looked unconvinced. "Well, I'll try."

"Learn by doing, Granger. There's no way to pick this up from a book, you're just going to have to wade in."

"And how will I get out again."

A sensible question for once. "Once you're in I'll eject you until you get used to it. Half an hour of that will probably be enough for one night. We can work on actually using the skill and controlling it next time, if you get that far."

She looked frustrated. Did she honestly think she would pick it up and be proficient in one evening?

Snape leaned back in his seat, trying to make himself as comfortable as he could be, with the prospect of another person about to launch into his thoughts. "In your own time," he drawled.

Hermione made the jab with her wand that was required and said, "Legilimens," like she was about to attack him.

Nothing happened.

"Focus," he said softly. 

"Legilimens!" she said again. He could at least feel it that time, but she wasn't quite there.

"You're too worked up about it. Is it because it's Dark Magic?"

"No," she said defensively, meaning yes.

"It's consensual. You're not going to find anything I don't want you to see." He shook his head slightly and turned bodily to face her as best he could on the three-seater. "Lean back and relax. Look at me." Her eyes were hazel and so clear. He could have fallen into them, probably could work his way inside wandlessly, even wordlessly if he wanted to. Being open was a talent (or natural failing) in itself and he hoped that he wasn't unconsciously blocking her. He followed his own advice and tried to relax further. "Look at my eyes. Properly. Desribe them to me."

"They're very dark. I've always thought they were black but ... dark brown? You look tired. You look like you want a drink."

He smiled, as much as he ever did. "You said they look black. Focus on the place where pupil becomes iris. Try to see the definition." Hermione's breathing had slowed. She had a little crease on her forehead as she concentrated. Better. "Now try again."

"Legilimens," she said, jabbing her wand.

"Oh my!" she said, except her lips didn't move. He was still looking at her, staring blankly at him, but he could feel her presence in his brain like a bull in a china shop. "Oi!" she thought. Smirking, Snape let his attention drift lazily down her body, enjoying the folded V of her blouse and the swell of her breasts underneath. He could feel her feeling flustered and pleased. Then he felt her rooting around. I know you're doing it, he thought. He remembered, for no reason, the sight of her poking out her tongue at him during the exam, the memory forced onto him. Very clever.

With ease he closed her out, feeling her slip away from his consciousness. Across from him, she jolted as though sitting on a chair about to tip over, grabbing at the back of the couch for purchase. "Good," he murmured as she breathed hard, eyes looking wildly around the room as though she didn't know quite where she was or how she had come to be there. "What did you see?"

"Your head it's all ... it's all words. Even when you're looking at something it's like you're describing it. Like an audiobook. Is everyone like that?"

"Every mind is different," he said, slightly disconcerted by her evaluation of his mind. Neither Albus nor Voldemort had ever given him an assessment of the way his head worked. "As such the way you experience another mind will be particular to you, and what you find presented in each person will be slightly different. When I practice Legilimency, I often find I am in a room of some kind, that the thoughts and memories are stored in a conventional sense which usually, on some level, can be associated with the person in question."

"There wasn't anything like that," she said, frowning. "It was ... everything was very dark, shady, and I could hear your voice just talking constantly."

"What did I look at?" he asked.

She smirked. "You were describing my breasts. And in a very complimentary way, I might add."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement, wondering if there were any vocabulary to describe Hermione's body that was not complimentary. "It's possible the rest will come in time. The shadows may in time take form. You pulled out a memory, as well. How did you achieve that?"

She frowned, as though trying to put a difficult concept into words. "I'm not entirely sure. I sort of ... I told the voice I could hear what I wanted to know about, and it offered me lots of things and I had to tell it which one I wanted." 

An adequate description, for a first time, if a very obvious way of doing things. In time he would teach her to search the memories without directly confronting the target's subconscious. But baby steps. "Try again. Work on remembering why you're there, that your physical body is somewhere else. I'll warn you when I'm going to push you out. Try to prepare yourself for it so it's not such a shock."

They worked for a further half hour. Each time he felt her inside he would shift his gaze around the room, focusing on a different object without breaking her line of sight to his eyes. Her books, a painting of a cat, her cigarette lighter. Each time he evicted her again he asked her to describe what he had looked at, what she could draw from his thoughts around the objects. As they worked together, she reported that his mind started to take on form for her, physical shapes emerging from the shadows, though so far they were unclear. 

By the time he got to the lighter she had markedly improved. "You were thinking about the first time you saw me use it, and then you were thinking about your lighter. I could hear Lucius Malfoy, in your head, saying that thing about knowing you had Muggle blood. And something about your ... um ... your father." He had felt her tug at that strand of thought, had hoped to evict her before she could examine it too closely.

"Go on," he prompted. It was unpleasant, having her aware of such thoughts and memories, but it was something he had and would never mention in other circumstances. Therefore it was a perfect test of her skill.

"There was something about your father smoking in the library. He'd light his cigarette while he was reading and he'd tap out a rhythm with the lighter on the desk." She tapped 'Land of Hope and Glory' against the back of the sofa.

"Very good," he said. "One last try and we'll call it a night."

"So soon?" she asked.

He smirked. "Only for your lessons, I'll stick around a bit longer if I'm welcome. I don't want to over-tax you." Hermione looked about to argue that she was fine, and then stifled a yawn. He raised an eyebrow pointedly. "I'd like you to go looking for something this time. A shared memory, something we've done together. See if you can pull it out and examine it."

"How will I know that it's your memory and not a skewed version of mine?" she asked.

"Look for something that you didn't know about. I'll be able to confirm afterwards."

With no trouble she cast the Legilimens and he felt her in his mind. He tried to relax and allow her free rein. Though he had tried to resist pre-supposition, not wanting to influence her choice, he was surprised when she chose a memory that had occured some years ago. The Hermione he saw in his mind was shorter, a bit spottier, less self assured than the woman he had been coming to admire. Her teeth had been enlarged. And it was then he realised that, of course, she would come back to this.

As he requested, she played over the memory carefully. In his mind's eye he recalled the sight of her -- skinny legs, grey skirt, pressed blouse, red and gold tie, wild hair that was certain to find it's way into a potion and royally fuck up his day. He was inclined towards a certain sympathy for anyone with a 'characterful', as she had put it, facial feature. But it had been such a piss poor day and his arm ached so much he had lost patience. The words were out of his mouth, dripping venom, before he could think. "I see no difference." Then her eyes were brimming with tears. He couldn't stand crying. Even homesick Slytherins tried his patience when they were tearful. When she flounced from the room he was relieved as much as anything. Potter was glaring at him, naturally. Best to ignore the whole bloody thing and just get on with it. Three hours until he could put another salve on the dark mark, and it was burning already. Three fucking hours of idiots with explosives.

Hermione gasped as he pushed her out, judging that what she had seen should be sufficient. 

"You were in pain. That's why you were so horrid."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's not why, but it was an exacerbating factor. You overlook that you were bloody annoying as a teenager. It seemed to take a war for you to learn that waving your arm in the air isn't the most sensible way to get attention."

She smiled, just slightly. "I've noticed with most of your put downs that if I ignore what you actually say, you're usually being quite charming."

Snape sighed. "And I've noticed you seem determined to get entirely the wrong idea about me. Kindly do not turn me into a teddy bear, you only doom yourself to disappointment."

Smirking, Hermione closed the distance between them, leaning on the back of the couch as she kissed him. His hands travelled up her back, enjoying her warmth, the smell and feel of her. "Quid pro quo," he reminded her quietly.

He felt a huff across his lips. "Aren't we getting to that already?"

Snape smiled and encouraged her to straddle his lap again. He had enjoyed it the other night, had regretted not being able to explore the possibilities of the position further. Her skirt rode up and he smoothed his palms over her stocking tops. "I'd like to talk a bit, but please do stay put."

"Good," she murmured, her voice soft and teasing as she ducked her head to kiss his throat. "I can distract you better from here."

"Any chance of your sexual history?" he asked. He felt her stiffen for a moment, which he thought was a bit rich, given she had been poking through whatever she fancied in his brain for the last half hour. "You can start with what you got up to in my dungeons."

She laughed and relaxed fractionally. "Viktor Krum, after the Yule Ball in fourth year. He'd been spending a lot of time with some of the Slytherins, I think. He seemed to know his way around -- the dungeons, that is. Apparently very well, because he took me to a hidden passageway which I suspect might be the same one to your rooms. A cushioning charm and too much butterbeer meant I lost my virginity, probably right outside your rooms."

He recalled the seemingly constant fog of pain that had been his overarching day to day concern during that year. Coupled with the knowledge that there was someone dangerous in the castle and trying, forever trying, to keep Potter from suicide-by-daring-deed it was not a good year for him observationally. He routinely patrolled the classrooms, the store rooms and the halls around the Common Room. The passage to his own chambers was masked and private. He had never caught a student there. In future, he would know better.

"And how was the Durmstrang champion?" he asked as he pushed her skirt a little higher. Black cotton knickers. His fingers grazed over the soft, warm fabric.

Hermione hissed through her teeth. "He was good. Much more experienced than me."

"He made you come?" Snape asked. Hermione nodded, her eyes closing as he stroked her. "During, after?"

"Before. He said he didn't want to hurt me. He used his fingers and it was ... easy. I didn't even think about it."

"And then?"

Hermione frowned. "Then we had sex."

Snape removed his hand. It was obviously distracting her. "Sexual partners, Hermione."

"Oh! Viktor and I, we were only ... intimate once. Everything else sort of took over, and Ron-" she sighed. "He wasn't very understanding, made things a bit difficult. Ron was next. It all sort of kicked off just after the war ended."

"It makes me shudder to ask, but how was he?"

Her hazel eyes were conflicted as they avoided making contact with his. Not that he was about to launch inside and extract the information from her himself -- though it probably would have been a quicker, easier and more accurate method. "Oh, fine. You know. He had even less experience than me and it took a while to show him what's what."

"Mmmm," Snape hummed. He leaned back and started unbuttoning her shirt, enjoying the slow reveal of toned skin beneath. "Did he make you come?"

"Not often," Hermione admitted.

"And how did he take that?"

"Not well." She was silent a long time. Snape unfastened the final three buttons before she continued. "He got very frustrated, like it was a comment on his abilities. He thought it meant I didn't want to be with him. And, well, to be completely honest, that's the only reason he seemed to want it to happen so much. So he would know I wanted to be with him rather than ... to make me happy."

It was overwhelmingly tempting to make a scathing remark. Somehow, Severus resisted. "And how did you react to his frustrations?"

She took a deep breath. "I just faked it. And he seemed happy enough after that."

The idiocy of some men. Severus encouraged her shirt from her shoulders, leaving her half-stripped and flushed in his lap. How could any man want anything but to torment such a beautiful creature until she begged for release? He slid her bra strap from her right shoulder and leaned forward, kissing the faint indentation it left behind. "And after you saw sense and chucked him?"

"After we broke up," she said pointedly, "there were a few men. Most of them knew their way around and I didn't have too many problems coming. I'd say two out of three times I'd come during sex."

Snape nodded, saying nothing about the fact that wasn't actually very frequent, and reached around to unfasten her bra. As her breasts spilled free he spent a few happy minutes kissing and suckling at her breasts, cupping and stroking their softness. He breathed in deeply. Muggle perfume and ink and the natural scent of her body. Delicious.

He leaned back and held her in place where he could see her and watch for evasion. "It's very important that you're honest with me now. Have you ever faked an orgasm with me?"

He was confident that she hadn't, but he wasn't arrogant enough to think it was impossible. "No," she said, a smile curling her lips. "I haven't needed to. And wouldn't anyway, you're too good at spotting when I'm lying." Well, that was true enough.

"When we've been intimate, as you so succinctly put it, have I ever made you uncomfortable?"

"No," she began. He raised an eyebrow, knowing the lie for what it was immediately. "Not in any way that matters."

"It all matters. Tell me."

"Just. Sometimes, I know what you're doing. I know you're trying to make me come again, just because you think I should be able to. It makes something shut down in me. It makes me feel..."

After a moment he prompted, "Go on."

"It makes me feel like I'm just a challenge. Like you're not actually interested in me or making me happy any more. Just bolstering your own ego." She frowned, looking alarmingly close to tears. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong."

He leaned in and kissed her, one hand stroking over her breast again. He rolled and pinched her nipple, just the way she liked. "It didn't come out wrong. And yes, to a certain extent I do take pride in causing this sort of reaction." His hand trailed down, fingertips pressing to the damp patch in her knickers. "Just as you take pride in this." He pressed his hips up against her, knowing she could feel the hardness she had caused. "I also think you're very beautiful. Your body is ... exceptionally arousing. And it turns me on to enjoy that." He pulled back again and looked at her. "Does that make you uncomfortable?"

Without pausing she shook her head slowly. "No. It's actually quite exciting."

"Good. So when I touched you and enjoy your body it is because?"

"You want to," she said with a feline smile, like the cat that got the flobberworms. 

"Good girl," he murmured against her lips, smirking when she slapped his chest gently with one hand. "Ten points to-" the rest of the sentence was lost when she deepened the kiss.

They fucked slowly that night, staying on the sofa just as they were. He removed his shirt and she stood long enough for him to push down his trousers. Then she was on top of him and teasing her slit along his cock. He groaned, over-whelmed by heat and sensation, but knowing how much she enjoyed it from flashes he had experienced in her mind. Even when she took him inside her she kept the rhythm slow and grinding. He let her set the pace, plundering her breasts with his mouth and teeth, fingers digging into her arse and hips as she tempted him closer and closer but never quite there.

"If you use Legilimency," she whispered against his ear, "can you make me come like this? Without touching my clit?"

Shouldn't be too difficult, he thought, except that he was monumentally distracted. But Severus Snape had never been one to back away from a challenge. Grasping for his wand he cast the Legilimens and relaxed into the shape of her mind. Normally, when he did this with her, he made no efforts to be subtle. She was like him -- she liked a good grasp on the control rudder -- and it was easier on her if she knew what he was up to. This time he melted into the background of her subconscious, blending in seamlessly. He felt his cock sliding into her, opening her, stroking against that right spot and that right spot. He felt how she wanted to rock on him, to just have him press those good places again and again, but the desire equally to draw it out for him until he flipped and fucked her as he had done that first night. Severus stored away that tidbit of information, that she wasn't averse to their more animalistic couplings. 

As she rose and fell on his prick, he heightened the sensations in those good places. He felt her cunt tighten around him and smirked. He leaned in just a little closer until her nipples grazed his chest, and he built up that sensation, layering it on top of the other. 

He honed in on her awareness of her clit and flicked through her mind for a favourite memory. A bright one jumped out, like a suggestion, of his fingers lazily massaging her cunt, only occasionally brushing her clit directly. Each time they did so it was like a jolt of electricity, made all the more intense by its transience. She had found herself waiting, taut, breath held for the moments that he would touch her there, all the time certain that the next or the next would send her tumbling into orgasm. He drew on this memory, pressing that sense of anticipation towards her, that feeling of wanting so desperately to feel just that sensation and knowing it would be the right one to make her come.

Without his encouragement she began to speed their rhythm, her hips rocking slightly to increase the friction against her cunny. Without breaking eye contact he kissed her, lips gentle and teasing, just the way she liked. As she started to pant and moan he turned up the intensity in her mind again. She was waiting, desperately waiting for that one last brush of sensation to tip her over. "Let me feel you come," he said clearly into her mind. Her eyes widened in surprise -- he felt that she had forgotten he was in there -- then closed as she seemed powerless to resist the waves of pleasure that overtook her.

Her cunt was still squeezing him when he grinned and flipped her over, just as she had wanted. He pressed her knees back to her chest, slapping her pelvis with his as he pounded into her. Snape's eyes were shut, but he felt her bite his neck, his chest, any bit of flesh she could reach. "Harder," she groaned, and Snape was only too pleased to oblige, shooting his come into her only a few strokes later.

He sat back on his haunches as he recovered, breathing heavily and blinking the bright colours from his vision. Hermione was sprawled beneath him, her limbs spreadeagle, her pussy dripping, her skin flushed and sweaty. Beautiful. Absolute fucking perfection. "I think you need cleaning up," he growled, scooting back and dipping his head down to her sex. She squeaked at the first none-too-gentle swipe of his tongue and he felt her hands in his hair.

Snape wasn't that fond of the taste of his own spunk, but it wasn't too bad when mixed well with a woman's cunt. Her tang balanced his bitterness nicely. As in life, he thought. He licked her hole, her perineum, her labia. He fluttered over her clit and kissed it. In many ways she had been right. He was intrigued by the challenge of showing her she could come repeatedly. But he had also been telling the truth when he said he simply enjoyed her body. Flicking his tongue over her clit and watching it twitch, watching her whole body twitch, was its own reward. It was obvious she still found it arousing, but the perceived pressures were still there, holding her back from enjoying it enough.

"What do you do," Snape asked from between her thighs, "when I get you all worked up again but you can't come?"

"Spend a night frustrated," she growled. Her hand smoothed over his hair to gentle the response. "There's not a lot I can do. I'm just sort of used to it."

"You don't touch yourself?" he asked. She shook her head. "Ever?" he prompted.

"Obviously I touch myself sometimes. When I don't have a partner and I'm horny, or when we've been kissing but haven't had time to do anything else. I get worked up and I release the tension before I go to sleep." Snape spent a moment imagining her in the dark of her room, eyes closed and his name on her lips. He was struck with a sudden and unique feeling of possessiveness, which was gone as soon as it appeared. "But not after I've had sex. I just leave it. Go to sleep, get on with my day, whatever."

'Get on with my day'. Severus was struck with how delicious it might be to fuck Hermione in the morning, to start his day with this heady dose of pleasure before dealing with the dunderheads for seven hours. Perhaps one day she might permit him to stay the night, or to call on her in the early morning. The question being, once he was ensconced in her bed, would he ever want to leave -- for classes or for his own rooms? A dangerous question with answers he didn't care to consider just at that moment.

"Next time we have an evening alone, I'd like you to touch yourself for me. Make yourself come."

She shook her head, pulling him up and settling against his side. Though she had said physical affection was welcome, it was the first time she'd ever initiated such an embrace. After a moment's stiffness he brought one arm around her, his fingers idly playing through her hair. "That won't work. It'll set me on edge, knowing you're watching."

Snape smirked, though she couldn't see it from that angle. "Oh don't worry, I'll think of something to distract you."

They sat silently for some time, heart rates lowering, sweat cooling. She shivered and he pulled her closer, her legs bumping over his. "You could stay," she said, as though she knew about his prior thoughts. "If you wanted. Just for tonight."

It was a tempting thought. Until his own demons started picking at it. The danger of staying the night was descending into a relationship; and the danger of descending into a relationship was that she would discover precisely how much of a prick he was. Unloveable, the old taunt said. And so what? Severus Snape didn't want to be loved. Easier just to fuck and keep expectations low.

He kissed the top of her head. "Thank you, but probably not a good idea."

She smiled at him, but the expression was taut. She was angry at herself for offering. Really, they were as bad as each other. He extricated himself and got dressed, trousers and shirt and shoes slipped on, socks and cravat bunched and stored in one pocket. He donned his robes and was the surly Potions Master once more. 

They kissed at the fire place. It began gentle and tame. Then he had a flash of memory, the way she had looked straddling his lap, smiling and topless, skin soft beneath his hands and a growing damp patch in her knickers. The next moment he found his hand grabbing her arse and pulling her close, bodily lifting her up against his rejuvenating hardness. He hissed as her nails scratched his neck and her teeth closed over his lower lip. "It's not that I'm not tempted," he found himself saying, though where the need to justify himself had come from he had no idea.

She shook her head, hands dropping to rest on his belt. "You're right. I shouldn't have asked."

"Stop thinking," he said. He kissed her again, hands making a final pass over her naked body. They ended with a finger slipping between her folds, finding a renewed interest on her part as well. He hummed his approval. "Let me know if you do play with yourself, won't you?"

Hermione snorted, taking a step away. "In that unlikely event, you will be the first to know."

It was the end of the night and time to go. Yet Snape dawdled on the hearth with his hand in the Floo pot.

"I'll see you on Friday at the ball," she said by way of fairwell.

Snape scowled. Fucking ball. "You will," he answered, extracting his hand.

Hermione kissed his cheek before he could throw it into the fire. "Save me a dance," she said against his cheek.


	8. Confederacy of Dancers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone with a slightly more whimsical tone on this chapter in an attempt to echo JKR's descriptions of Yule Ball and Christmas fun. And because I know what teachers are like! Plus a bit of romance to tide over those who like that kind of thing, through the misery that is to follow ;)

That last kiss had revived her interest entirely. His passion at times was surprising and seemed to come from no where. She tried to remember if there had been even the slightest hint of this side of him when he was her teacher. Snape had always been an intense man, the type who was so tightly buttoned that when he snapped he really went all out. She remembered Harry drunkenly relating Snape's reaction to him sneaking into the pensive and seeing his worst memory. It was the same with sex, she supposed. The position of teacher was a fairly asexual one. All attention was devoted to the students, who struggled to see their teachers as people in their own rights, with all the needs and desires that come with humanity. Academic study and refereeing fights seemed to make up the majority of her time, and moreso for Snape who was both head of house and deputy headmaster. Not so surprising, then, that once an outlet for sexual desire was found he grasped it bruisingly with both hands.

It was a passion, though, that Hermione had never really experienced before. Horniness, yes. Constantly. It was the mainstay of the months she had spent with Ronald and his ever-present erection. But those memories were tainted with desperation, a race to reach the end. Severus was leisurely, enjoyed her body and preferred not to be rushed. The focus of his need was very tightly squared on her, not his own bodily urges. Well, she thought, smirking. Usually. There had been some definite bodily urges poking her in the stomach as he pulled and lifted her against him. 

Hermione flicked the butt of her cigarette out the window and incinerated it before it dropped out of sight. She left the window cracked to air the room and ducked under the covers, huddling into a ball to get warm again. How pleasant it might have been, and how strange, if he had agreed to spend the night. She tried to imagine curling up beside Severus Snape and falling asleep with his solid presence beside her. They would have fucked again first, almost certainly, and that would have made it less strange. It was easier to fall warm and sticky into someone's arms, than it was to come to a cold bed with an understanding that sleep would be happening with no intervening activity. Men had spent the night with her before. Ron had been warm and familiar, heavy breathing and sprawling to take up the whole bed. There had been other men, one night stands and casual flings. More often than not she was high on those occasions and disinclined to sleep anyway. The come down had always made throwing them out in the morning that much easier. If Snape had stayed, how would she have got rid of him in the morning? Not with dignity, that was almost certain. Though he was good at respecting her boundaries, reading when it was time to leave if her mind was on other things. "You have a lot to learn about sex with a Legilimens," he had said in a raspy, stoned voice. She was learning, slowly but surely.

She thought again of the way he kissed her, held her, slid his fingertip into her pussy and left her aching for more. With a certain quantity of forboding, knowing that it wouldn't work, she slid one hand down her stomach, between her legs. 

Severus had cleaned her admirably but she was still sticky from both their juices. Gravity did its bit, she supposed, with a wrinkle of her nose. Slippery fingers found her clit and started to tease and play with it as her eyes fell shut. She thought of the way he his mind had changed when he looked at her breasts. First the positive hum of approval that had passed through him, then the lust, then the commentary on their shape and softness, the way they felt when he touched them. He had thought how hard her body made him, the thrill of excitement he felt when he saw their swell in the halls and remembered how she looked naked. The knowledge of his approval, his arousal, sent her higher and closer. She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his body pressing down on her, pounding into her. Every time he had lost control, just a little, because of her. Even that occasion that had made him feel so guilty, when he had been angry and fucked her against the bookcase leaving bruises.

She thought of how it would be to touch him in public. Not to make their night time visits known to the rest of the school or announce a relationship, nothing like that. But how it would be to sit beside him at dinner and touch him under the table. It was exciting to gain his interest outside of these rooms, like an affirmation that everything was not a fluke or a lie. She had always been an attention seeker in her own way. Snape had said himself how she used to wave her arm in the air, determined to prove herself and be praised for her own cleverness. It was still nice to be praised. Though Hermione knew it was unwise to make one's self worth reliant on the opinion of others, it was easier to know that in theory than to put it into practice. 

She thought of the way he unravelled when he approached orgasm, the way his hips pounded against her. Sometimes she would be permitted to watch the intense frown of concentration, either trying to hold on or to push himself towards that final plateau. Other times he would bury his face in her neck so she couldn't see his face, but could hear every ragged breath, every groan and whispered syllable against her skin. Her name was becoming the most common. And how thrilling those four syllables could be. 

Her body was tightening and Hermione was aware she was getting closer. It was that awareness that, as ever, led to a dampening of her arousal. Her fingers still played over her flesh, but their movements didn't cause the same spark and excitement as they had only moments before. She tried to think of Severus's dark voice, urging her on, of the way his cock twitched in her hands. But it was no use. With a sigh she wiped her fingers on the sheets and rolled over. She wished she hadn't bothered, trying and failing to ignore the burn and thrum of frustration between her legs.

For some minutes she tried to sleep but something was keeping her awake. She sat up in bed and conjured a glass of water, sipping from it. Standing, she padded through to the living room and stretched, trying to trick her body into believing it was about to go to bed for the first time and should really wind down towards sleep. The fire had burned low in the grate, only embers glowing in the dark. She smiled to herself and picked up a quill from her desk, scribbling a quick note to him. 

"Played the game but didn't finish. Sorry to disappoint."

With a pinch of floo powder and the direction to his rooms, she dropped the note into the green flames and went back to bed.

*

Thursday passed with little incident. Hermione saw Severus briefly at meals, but Ancient Runes exams were that day and she was only running in to get food to eat on the go as she had planned personal study sessions with her students. It was translation of whatever was offered in the exam, so there wasn't a lot of prep any of them could perform, but she knew it was always comforting to go over things in the run up. Even if her students spent their twenty minute slot with her ranting about exam nerves or in tears (as she had, just the once, with Professor McGonagall), at least it was a release of distracting emotion that would help keep their minds clear for the exam. Hermione was glad to give up her time to such a task and was gratified that her NEWT students seemed to appreciate the gesture.

After dinner she patrolled the halls, finding a few bold first years where they shouldn't be and sending them on their way with points deducted. She stopped by Snape's rooms, giving a quiet tap on his door, but there was no answer. Doubtless he was patrolling himself. He had given no response to her missive. Perhaps he really was disappointed in her. It had always been a possibility and the thing that caused her the most concern about his pet project. If she was letting him down physically, she would sooner not have her nose rubbed in it.

Back in her rooms she smoked, tapping her thumbnail against the filter in a nervous, agitated way. Her eyes were drawn up to the neighbouring Astronomy Tower. The view wasn't perfect, but she thought she could make out a slender trail of grey smoke up there. If it was him, his body was entirely hidden. Or she was imagining it.

After a cigarette didn't settle her, she broke out the little block of pot she had acquired on one of her recent forrays to London. She balanced the flattened paper on her lap, grateful for a still night, as she held the lighter flame under the block, breathing in the smell. 

Hermione remembered being young, a party, one of her parents' birthdays. "What's that, Daddy?" she asked as he did just what she was doing now.

"It's to make the cigarettes smell nice, darling," he had replied. When her mother had laughed she didn't understand what was funny. They had only ever smoked at parties, and as an adult Hermione suspected it had only ever been joints. She tried to remember the moment she realised that her parents had done drugs, and in her presence. Somehow she couldn't. The knowledge had just sort of permeated her subconscious at some point. One day it was cigarette incense, the next it was pot. The world kept on turning. It wasn't a big deal.

The lighter snicked off and Hermione winced as she quickly crumbled the hot block, sprinkling the black powder over the tobacco. She pinched her finger and thumb together, soothing the pads of her fingers. Roll, lick, press, twist. Her joints weren't as neat as Severus's rollies, but she supposed he'd had a lot more experience.

Hermione lit up, holding her breath and imagining the smoke curling inside of her. She exhaled, tasting the pot in the back of her throat, and smiled. Two more puffs and she was wondering about Flooing down to Severus's rooms, if she'd be welcome. She had an urge for the feel of his naked body against hers, the hardness, the jaggedness of his joints, the heavy hot weight of his cock. Hermione smiled lazily, closing her eyes as she drew in another drag. The feeling of relaxing after a full day on edge was delicious, like sinking into a hot bath.

She thought of sinking into a hot bath with Severus, and then her mind hooked on possible ways to maneuvre him into such a situation.

She smoked it down to the rolled cardboard filter then leaned with her head back against the window frame, breathing the cold night air. It was so wonderful just to relax. Just to relax and not rush and not worry. She might even have fallen asleep there, were it not for a brief rushing sound coming from the living room.

Performing her regular trick of throwing the butt and shooting Incendio after it, she returned to her living quarters. A note for her on the hearth with cramped spidery writing that made her stomach flip and her ears burn.

"You have yet to disappoint me. When it happens I'll be sure to let you know. For your information, I had no problems 'finishing' before retiring for the night."

Hermione snorted and tossed the letter into the flames, watching as the corners curled and blackened. Time for bed.

*

Friday was a blessedly empty day. Apparently for everyone. The corrdidors were barren as Hermione made her way, mid-morning, towards the entrance hall to head out for a walk. No exams, no classes, just the Yule Ball and then the end of term. Yet still she had not decided where she would be spending Christmas and pondered the possibilities as she made her way around the lake. 

It used to be a favourite time of year, the only difficult decision being whether to go to the Burrow or home to her parents. Parents generally won out. There was nothing like a family Christmas: Mum tipsy on champagne and pink cheeked, her hair frizzing as she stood over the hob swearing at the gravy to thicken; Dad equally tipsy on brandy, forever sloshing just a bit more into the brandy butter, and nagging to open presents while Mum flapped. It was only the three of them, and in many ways that made it harder. They had had their own traditions, undisturbed by outsiders. And now she had no one who understood Christmas the way she liked it. No one who wore reindeer antlers to midnight mass or knew to put a book at the top of her stocking, so she could open it at five in the morning (always too excited to sleep) and leave everyone else to sleep in till a decent hour. No one to peel boiled chestnuts too late on Christmas Eve, because no one enjoyed it but it had to be done. No one to make rude comments about the Queen's Speech and tease Mum when she got cross and refused to turn it off.

Spending Christmas with the Weasleys had been nice enough, but so noisy! So many people! It wasn't so much a family occasion as an everyone-and-their-uncle knees up. Which was lovely, in its own way. But it wasn't Hermione's idea of Christmas. Plus her welcome had not been so warm since she and Ronald split. They were on tense talking terms, but she suspected he grumbled behind her back, for the rest of the family -- particularly Molly -- were not so pleasant as they had once been. Harry had invited her to spend Christmas with him and Ginny and the baby, but it was their first Christmas as a family. Hermione had no wish to either intrude or feel left out by proxy. 

Which left her final two options: Hogwarts or home. In either case, she would be alone for most of the day. Minerva stayed at the school as Dumbledore had, keeping it open for those poor souls who had no where else to go and ensuring they had a merry Christmas. Hermione would present herself for Christmas dinner and pull a cracker, drink some champers, then retire to her room for a spliff or maybe more, trying not to think of the first Christmas she had spent away from family. She wondered if Severus would be staying at Hogwarts, if he would pull a cracker with her and sneer at the terrible joke. It made the prospect just a little more bearable. 

Going home would be a similar scenario, but probably no dinner, no crackers, no company at all and the drugs would most certainly be harder. The tears would probably be more bitter, as well. At home she would have memories of happy Christmases like ghosts floating over memories of bad ones, making them all the worse by contrast.

By the time she had completed her circuit of the lake, her fingers were numb with cold and the sky had darkened, threatening snow. It would be pretty for the ball, but a bloody inconvenience for the Thestrals taking the kids down to Hogsmeade. Hagrid would be shaking his fist at the sky. The idea made her smile as she slipped back inside and groaned in pleasure at the heat coming from the Great Hall. She put her nose in and saw Filius floating decorations into place. There were beautiful crystaline icicles hanging from the charmed ceiling, and every surface seemed to be covered in holly and mistletoe. Hermione wondered if she could covertly blast some of the mistletoe. Some of the seventh year boys were cheeky enough, without needing the encouragement of a night of butterbeer and 'tradition'. Surely Severus would help with that. He liked a bah-humbug twice as much as the next person.

Hermione opted to have lunch in her rooms and then set to the task of preparing for the Yule Ball. She didn't exactly intend to go all-out. After all, she was attending as a teacher, not a student. But it was a chance to show off a bit and actually spend some time with Severus in an adult social atmosphere. Why this was important and exciting, Hermione chose not to examine. She simply pulled out her favourite set of dress robes and hung them up, eyeing them critically.

She had put on a bit of weight since she'd worn them last. Not that this was a bad thing -- on the contrary, it was rather nice -- but it would mean some alterations had to be made. The robes were a rich dark red velvet, corseting beneath making them very structured and fitted. With a wave of her wand, she let the laces out a bit, magically altering the garment in a way that should allow for her fuller shape. She wriggled into the robes and spent a few moments looking critically into the mirror, flicking her wand here and there to improve the fit. Twisting her mouth to one side and narrowing her eyes, she lowered the neck line just a little as well. Just a little couldn't hurt. Probably wouldn't even be noticed by anyone but her. She altered the sleeves as well, lengthening them. It had been summer the last time she had worn these robes, her leavers' ball, and she didn't fancy freezing in the snow. Long, trailing sleeves, very elegant. She raised her arms into a dancing hold to make sure she had the room to move, and turned on the spot experimentally. The robes swished out impressively. Yes, that would do nicely.

Removing the robes, she ran a bath and spent the evening trying to make her hair acceptable. It might have been nice to wear it loose, but it was entirely impractical. Too wild. A couple of hours in a warm room, spinning round a dance floor and she'd look like she'd been dragged through a hedge or worse. The bedhead look was alright for a night in a club, but not exactly appropriate for chaperoning the young and impressionable. Instead she tamed her hair into a long elaborate plait, winding ribbons of red and green through the braid. Christmas colours, she told herself. Nothing to do with house symbolism at all.

At seven she was ready, made up with a mixture of charms, glamours and more Muggle methods and looking, she thought, rather pretty. Pulling her braid over one shoulder, she gave her reflection in the mirror a wink and made her way down to the Hall.

The teachers had arranged to meet before the beginning of the ball in an effort to dish out duties. As she swept down the empty stairscase, she saw Severus emerge from his dungeons. His dress robes were hardly recognisable as such, being so similar to his teaching robes there was almost no difference. Hermione smiled at the familiarity. She had never paid much attention to what he wore to such events before, but she supposed she might have guessed how he'd be turned out. His hair was clean, though, so he'd not been brewing today. She would have to ask how he had been occupying himself.

"Good evening," she said clearly. Had she startled him? There was a slight stiffening to his shoulders, but when he turned his face was impassive as ever. One hand was in his pocket, though, and she'd bet her books it was wrapped around his wand. Never startle a spy, she told herself sternly, trying not to grin.

His dark eyes swept over her as she stepped into the warm glow of floating candle light. There was something approving about the set of his mouth. What a pity the copious black fabric masked his groin, for there would be a failsafe way to tell if he liked her outfit.

"Professor Granger," he said smoothly, inclining his head. "Conforming to type, I see."

Well, he was one to talk. He was smirking at her chosen colour of attire. Hermione ran a hand over her braid, feeling the velvet ribbons twined in her hair. "Not entirely," she murmured. "But it is Christmas. I thought I should be seasonal."

Hermione thought he might have offered his arm to her, but of course they didn't want to appear as if they were arriving together. She preceded him into the hall, where the other teachers were already assembled and chattered amongst themselves. As the pair joined the throng, little Filius cleared his throat (more than once) to call for quiet.

"We have ten minutes before the students are due to arrive, so I will be brief. For the first hour I would like two volunteers from general faculty on the door checking students are all fourth year and above. After the first hour we only need one on the door, and I suggest this is done by rotation. I also want a pair of eyes on the refreshments at all times. Heads of House and Headmistress, you will need to be present for the first four dances, as is trdaitional. Then you may cover areas as you choose. Although we are here to do a job, I would also like everyone to enjoy themselves. Please stay until the end, and please can everyone sweep an area of the school before going to bed. Mr Filch has been most vocal about this requirement."

Hagrid and Hermione both volunteered to stand at the door. "Oh, no dear," Minerva said when she raised her hand. She smiled tightly and put out a hand to Hermione. "Please, I'd like you to be available in the room for the first hour or so." She smiled her tight little smile at Sinistra. "Helena, would you mind awfully?" The Astronomy professor raised an eyebrow but nodded her agreement.

Before Hermione could ask any further questions, the first of their attendees started to arrive and a hubbub out in the Entrance Hall heralded more arriving soon.

"What was all that about?" Hermione hissed to Severus as they moved off towards the refreshments table.

For the first time since they had worked together, Severus Snape held a smug expression on his face outside of her private rooms. "I can't tell you. Classified information."

She sighed heavily, only part exaggeration. Hermione did not like secrets, particularly when they pertained to herself. 

The students were buoyant and beautiful, as only the young can be. Severus sneered at them. Hermione smiled. She watched them whoop and gasp at the beauty Filius had created in just one afternoon. Re-discovering the wonder of magic. Smart new dress robes never before worn, slightly mis-shapen, a little too perfect. The teachers had all rolled out new editions of familiar robes, slightly altered but the same garment underneath. Minerva in her tartan, Snape in his blacks, she in red velvet and Pomona in green taffeta. Old fixtures of an old school, unchanging in their way. In some ways, that was nice, to be a part of something solid and immoveable. In other ways it made her want to claw her way out, determined for independence, resisting any kind of conformity lest it suffocate her in her sleep.

The evening's music was to be provided by a new band, Banshee Anthem. They looked quite punk, in a wizarding sort of way, and across the room Filius seemed to be having very stern words with them. She wondered if they had been made aware of the staid music that was required for the dances with the teachers. No mosh pits for the old timers, thank you very much.

Strings and bagpipes started the familiar tune that would accompany the first dance, and the head boy held out his hand to Minerva. She was taller than him by a good couple of inches, but he bore it graciously and held her in a formal stance. The head girl, a Slytherin whose name she couldn't recall, walked up to them. Hermione looked on with benign amusement as the girl held out her hand to Severus. Snape took it with more equiminity than Hermione thought he would have managed, had it been a student from any other house, and led the young woman onto the floor. He actually danced very well, Hermione thought. His movements were fluid and he actually knew how to lead, which was more than could be said for a lot of the boys on the dance floor. She supposed it came with a dominating personality, a self confidence that it would be difficult for a lot of teenagers to achieve. Filius levitated himself to dance with the Ravenclaw prefect that had so demanded Snape's attention at the study hall, and they laughed together merrily; Pomona trotted primly with her own house's prefect; and Cora Dean, the head of Gryffindor and Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, was performing a formal sort of waltz with the Gryffindor prefect.

No sooner did the last strains of the first dance end than the Ravenclaw prefect smiled and curtseyed to her head of house, turned on her heel and walked straight to Snape. He was in conversation with the head girl and looked non-plussed at the appearance of this new partner. He accepted her hand with more grace than Hermione would have expected. For a moment he glanced in her direction. She mimed doffing her hat to him and his eyes flicked to her left. He smirked.

What on earth did he have to smirk about?

"Would you like to dance, Professor?" said a familiar voice. 

Hermione started and looked to see Bertrand Dorkins, a stocky seventh year Gryffindor boy, all awkwardness and acne. She smiled. He was a good boy. Eager. Not too bright, but not as frustrating as some of her students. At least he tried. "Thank you, Bert, I'd be charmed."

For all his grip was a little tight, the hand on her back a little low, and his palmy a little clammy, it wasn't the worst dance she had ever experienced. Snape smirked over the Ravenclaw's shoulder. Hermione smiled purposely at her partner, inching a bigger space between them and talking about coursework and plans for the holidays. 

"Your hair looks pretty like that, Professor," he said, going bright red.

"Thank you, Bert. That's very kind of you," she said smoothly, wondering that Snape's insults and barbs flattered her far more than any direct compliment she had ever received. Perverse.

The dance ended and they both clapped. Bertrand bowed and Hermione nodded her head, before returning to hide behind the punch bowl. "You've got an admirer," said a dark, familiar voice behind her.

It was all Hermione could do not to crow in response. "You can talk!" she hissed. "That poor girl's besotted. And you were probably vile to her the whole three minutes."

When she looked over her shoulder he was smirking again, looking all together too pleased with himself. "Apparently that's what some women like."

Before Hermione could answer, Snape turned to where the Hufflepuff prefect had apparently been hovering behind him. She was just a little too scared to ask him to dance, though she knew that she must. He put her out of her misery, stalking back to the dance floor with her trotting to keep up.

Touche, Professor Snape. Touche.

Some twenty minutes later, with the formal head of house dances out of the way, the students relaxed and more of them took to the floor. The band took more liberties and Filius was distracted from censoring them further. Hagrid came over and danced with her, as did Filius and Truman Bones, the Transfigurations Master. He had a fondness for the quickstep and Hermione was breathless by the time the dance was ended, laughing and clapping with her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. 

After that she found Snape by the doors out to the grounds. The traditional rose bushes had been erected, the area lit by illuminated fairies, their light glowing eerily off the freshly fallen snow. "Want to go and destroy some rose bushes?" she asked, thinking of their first Yule Ball and nearly getting caught herself as she and Viktor searched for a private place to be intimate.

"I'll take the bushes, you take the mistletoe. The toe rags don't need the encouragement."

Hermione didn't mention that he was echoing her own sentiments. She wasn't sure if it was an indicator that Snape was becoming too much like her, or she was becoming too much like Snape.

"Come on then," she said, quietly incinerating one floating bunch of mistletoe. "What was all that about Minerva making me watch the dancing?"

That self-satisfied smirk was back. A lazy flick of his wand dessimated a rose bush and sent two Hufflepuffs running. "Twenty points from both of you. And do your fly up!" He lowered his voice again. "Minerva wants you better educated on the traditional responsibilities of a head of house."

Hermione's stomach sank. That sounded suspiciously like... "Please tell me the old DADA curse isn't back. Cora was doing so well!" The ex-Auror had been in post for three years and had seemed settled enough.

"The Ministry have offered her a consulting role, apparently. You didn't hear it from me."

It wasn't even in Hermione's heart to make a scathing remark about Snape being a gossip. She knew he wouldn't have told anyone else, probably wouldn't have told her if he weren't perfectly aware that she might take this as bad news. She sent a particularly vicious hex at the next sprig of mistletoe she saw.

"You're not happy, I take it."

She seethed for a few moments. No she wasn't fucking happy. In fact she could feel the castle walls closing in around her, threatening to keep her forever. 

Instead of answering, keeping her opinions of such a position being offered to herself, she turned towards him. "Do you know, I've danced with every male member of staff except you?"

He sneered, "I don't imagine I could entertain you as well as Bones. And I hate to be second best."

"I see. And now your real answer?"

Severus sighed in irritation. "We're out blasting bushes together, we've been conspiring over the punch bowl, we bloody arrived together. I can do without the slander or speculation and so can you."

Hermione could feel her ears going pink. Her anger was at the situation she had just been put into, looming on the horizon, not with him. He was right, as he generally was. But it was so easy to just be angry with him. "If being associated with me would be such a hardship I don't see why you bother!"

This time his sigh was tired. "I refuse to argue with you when your mind is on other things. Go and take your frustrations out on your students. Believe me, it works."

She stormed back towards the door, muttering vile things under her breath and relieved that he would probably take absolutely no notice. A Gryffindor and Hufflepuff couple scarpered from a bush as she passed, and she took more points than was strictly necessary. Snape was wrong. It made her feel no better. 

For the rest of the evening she spent as much time as she could on the door, sympathetically turning away younger students trying to sneak in and wishing a good night to those who left early. There were some disheveled couples who she suspected Severus had evicted from rose bushes who tended to head in the same direction even if they were in different houses. Filch would be livid. 

It was eleven when Pomona relieved her from this duty. "I don't think I've seen you dance all night, dear. Go and have some fun."

Hermione didn't argue that she had danced three times, nor that she wouldn't find much fun in dancing at that moment. She smiled weakly and pushed away from the door jam, relieved at least to be walking and stretching her back. She scanned the dancefloor, its numbers heavily depleted. Those students that were left had imbibed a little too much butterbeer, some even snoring on the sidelines. Youth today. No stamina. A few couples swayed and necked, a few others pogo'd half-heartedly. Ironically, it was mostly teachers left, twirling each other and switching partners on a whim. The women heavily out-numbered the man, moreso as Snape was nowhere to be seen, so Minerva and Gladys Vector danced primly together. The older woman had very pink cheeks and she looked to be holding in a fit of the giggles. So it wasn't just the students that had been at the butterbeer. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of Hagrid nipping from a hip flask. Well, it was Christmas for the faculty too.

"I think it might be safe to claim that dance now."

She rounded on him, a little ball of fury. But he was smirking and looking down his hooked nose at her, arms crossed across his chest. He didn't expect her to accept. He expected her to storm off and leave him in the best of both worlds -- he had asked her to dance, she had refused; duty discharged and blameless for the result. 

"That sounds charming, thank you," Hermione said, though the tone of her voice said quite the reverse.

To his credit, Severus only looked alarmed for a split second. If she hadn't been watching for it, ready to relish her victory, she would have missed it all together. Hermione held out her hand and he took it, unable to escape. See how that feels, she thought, pulling him towards the floor.

A couple of the teachers looked over as they joined them. "Excellent work, Hermione," Minerva called. Truman grinned. Hagrid hiccupped. And then no one paid any more attention to the couple. Just another pair of teachers enjoying the pre-holiday festivities under relatively low scrutiny from their students. What pupils were left would have very hazy memories of this end of the night, and it surely couldn't be completely surprising to them that their professors liked to dance as well.

He took her in the same formal hold he had adopted with the prefects. Hermione took a step closer, her fingertips stealing under his hair and brushing the nape of his neck. His robes weren't quite the same as his teaching robes. Rough hewn silk instead of wool. Heavy and shiny and stiff to the touch. It suited him. 

They swayed together, turning slowly. Hermione stared fixedly at his adams apple. The anger and frustration was threatening to dissipate, and that frightened her more than almost anything. Being close to Snape should be making her angrier, a concrete reminder of her inevitable entrapment in the school. Instead his presence was eerily calming. She resisted letting go of her fury as hard as she could, holding on to the fire and determined not to let his physical presence relax her.

"You've lowered the neck line," Snape said softly. Her eyes shot up. He was as close to a smile as he ever got in public, dark eyes staring at down her. 

"I'm surprised you noticed."

"You know I have an eye for detail." Snape pulled her just a little closer. And was that what she thought it was? A tell tale hardness that brushed her stomach as they danced? She brushed her fingertips against his neck again, remembering how she had fantasised about touching him in public. She felt a thrill of excitement, which doubled as his hand tightened on her back, bringing her almost flush against him.

For a little while longer they danced in silence. It would have been nice to move closer, rest her head on his shoulder and melt into him. Not for any romantic reasons, but it had been a long night and he felt so sturdy.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" she asked instead.

"Christmas dinner here, tuck in the remaining snakes and spend the evening at my home."

Hermione fought to hide her surprise. "Oh. I hadn't realised you had family still. You never mentioned..."

"I don't. But I have my family home and there are benefits to airing it out every few months." They were silent a little longer. "Were you angling for an invitation?"

She frowned, relieved that a spark of her anger was returning. "Not angling, no. Just curious. Might have been nice to share a drink."

For a long time he was quiet, his mouth set. "I don't like Christmas," he said at last. "I don't have many happy memories. It's a day to be lost in a bottle of fire whiskey."

"I'd planned on something harder, myself. But our tastes differ a little in that area."

The song ended and they stepped apart immediately, clapping politely -- at least, Hermione did. Pomona was walking towards Severus looking determined. "Withold your usual judgemental demeanor about my alcohol consumption and you can have the invitation you so apparently desire."

Hermione just smirked as Severus was taken firmly by the hand and drawn into what might have been a rhumba. The Herbology Professor danced with passion, Severus with something between horror and attempted dignity. Minerva was doubled laughing, tears glistening in her eyes, and Hermione found herself biting her lip hard to keep her own laughter in. "Every year he tries to hide, and every year she gets him in the end," Minerva wheezed. "Well done for getting him out on the floor, dear." 

What was surprising was Snape seemed to be taking it all with good grace. He didn't actively participate in some of the more intimate motions Pomona tried to initiate but he tolerated them, which was more than Hermione might have expected. When the dance ended he bowed low to his partner, scowling at a smattering of applause from the rest of the Hogwarts faculty. Severus Snape might actually be capable of taking a joke. Who knew?

"The elves are on clean-up duty," Filius squeaked as the band finally packed up, the hall emptying of what few young occupants it still contained. Hermione felt a pang for the elves, her old cause. She hoped they had at least been able to sleep between preparing the refreshments and being expected to clean up after the party. Next year -- if she was still at Hogwarts next year; if she could find a way to be there without being tied down -- she would try and make sure they were offered an invite. Elves deserved some fun as well, and the children could cope with their illusions of magically appearing food being shattered for one night. She thought fondly of Dobby, how much he would have enjoyed a good dance. "Sweep the castle and then sleep while you can, we're up bright and early to organise departing students tomorrow. Pomona and Truman, second and third floor; Helena and Cora, Gryffindor Tower; Hagrid and Hyacinth, Astronomy Tower; Severus and Hermione, the dungeons; and Gladys and myself will take Ravenclaw Tower. Sleep well, everyone."

If Severus had a problem with his alotted companion for scouring the dungeons, he did not show it. The two of them filed out in peaceful silence. Half way to the stairs Hermione stifled a yawn. "If you want to go to bed, I won't take issue," he said once the others were out of ear shot.

She smiled a tired smile. "I couldn't let my deputy head cover up a lack of dedication that big."

"Very well," he murmured. They had turned two corners, descended two staircases. The halls had darkened until she could no longer see without assistance. She took out her wand, ready to light it. "One moment," he said, his voice suggesting he was closer than she had thought. The next moment she felt warm lips against hers, familiar and breath taking. His hand was at the small of her back again, a mimick of their stance when they had danced, and a moment later she felt unyielding stone at her back. His lips burned, but there was nothing stronger than butterbeer on his breath. Hermione smiled against his lips, one hand sinking into his hair -- soft and clean and fine. 

"What if Filch comes?" she whispered as his mouth moved lower, his hand making the most of the lowered neckline.

"Fuck Filch," he growled against her skin. Hermione glowed with pleasure, relishing the attention and feeling a release of tension that she hadn't known had been there. It was the cancelling or the thought that she had made an effort and he had not cared. Vanity, thy name is Hermione. That thought became another one of those that she swept aside. It occurred to her that she would soon need to do some spring cleaning in her brain to wash out all these stray thoughts that came unbidden and unwanted.

Severus's mouth had made it to the low neck line and she gasped and hissed in pleasure. His cock was hard and insistent against her thigh. "Is this alright?" he asked in a strangled, rough sort of voice, and Hermione nearly laughed at him.

"Yes!"

His hands were plucking at her robes, pulling them up, brushing the skin underneath. Had she really become so turned on so quickly? Or had it been building all night without her notice? All she knew was she wanted Snape's cock in her that very second and not a moment later.

"Now!" she added urgently.

Severus seemed only too willing to comply. With a bit of shuffling and adjusting, he lifted her leg and crouched a bit, and she felt his hardness against her. "You're sure-"

"Yes!" she said as quietly as she could manage while still conveying urgency.

With one swift movement he was inside her. She swallowed his groan, kissing his lips as he started to fuck her as firmly as he could in their slightly awkward position.

"Can you-?" he mumbled, hands clumsy with lust as they pulled at her legs, squeezed her arse. She eventually got the hang of what he wanted and entrusted the weight of her body to him and the wall, wrapping both her legs around him and wincing when he jogged her against the stone, lifting her. Fully straightened, he could fuck her the way he wanted, teeth around her throat and hips pistoning into her. "This is going to be quick," he warned.

"Don't care," she whispered into his ear, holding tight to his shoulders.

He was whimpering, so quietly, breath coming in harsh gasps. One hand braced against the wall, then moved to her face as though feeling for something. "Look at me," he said. "Follow my voice."

Hermione frowned and tried to make out the whites of his eyes in the gloom. Then he was there, inside of her mind and inside of her body, plucking at her memories like the strings of a harp. In her mind he had her come over and over again, shoving the memories at her in something approaching desperation with none of his usual finesse, and she knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. Ironically, it was that knowledge that ignited the last fuse, the knowledge of his need sizzling through her until her cunt clamped around him and she shuddered, limp in his arms. With a growl of fury and lust and triumph, he slapped their hips together with bruising force, leaning bodily against her as he came.

Coming back to earth was a surreal experience. They each adjusted clothing, patted hair back into place, slowed their breathing. Snape's wand tip lit and Hermione blinked at the brightness. His face was flushed, dark eyes wild. He was still breathing hard. Those dark eyes raked over her and he smirked. "Pull your robes up," he suggested.

Hermione looked down and saw that one aereola was visible. She pulled up the corset with a muttered 'thank you'. One last time, she felt his lips on her neck. "You're beautiful when freshly fucked." She was too stunned by the compliment to do anything but obey when he strolled away, calling, "Go to bed before you collapse."


End file.
